Case One: The Thumb Thief
by funkyrandomer
Summary: A serial killer who takes his victim's thumbs, an idealistic thief, and a consulting detective willing to do anything for a case. After a lengthy undercover operation, Detective Ruby Smith's reintroduction to the police force leaves her questioning how so much changed in her absence. Sherlock/OC story. WARNING: This is a realistic fic, Sherlock will NOT fall in love by chapter 10.
1. Chapter 1

**First chapter, first story. I don't like entering huge amounts of author fluff so I will be brief. I really enjoyed writing this and it would be swell if you would let me know what you think. **

**...**

**A Possible Identity Crisis**

After waiting for eighteen months, Ruby Smith had finally arrived at the South London Morgue. She glanced at her unpolished fingernails which rested on the doorknob, savouring the feeling of cold steel beneath her skin as she summoned the necessary courage to push the handle down and enter the room beyond. With a portion of her mind still uncertain whether this was reality, Ruby pushed open the door and stepped into the chilled centre. The blank walls were interrupted every few feet by small, square metal gates which if opened would reveal one of three things: an empty chamber, a boring corpse rendered dead via natural causes or on rare occasions; an interesting body who'd exchanged pleasantries with the grim reaper as a result of someone's homicidal actions.

An odd trio were studying a body on her right; the small, kind-faced female appeared to be the mortician while the two men facing her seemed to be identifying the body. One was quite short, with straight brown hair, casual dress sense and very good posture while the other was tall and lanky, wearing a long heavy coat topped with an unruly mop of black hair. She could see nothing of their faces as their backs were turned but the identity of these people was irrelevant to Ruby's quest; it was the tall, dark mortician working on a corpse at the far flung end of the morgue which captured her attention. A smile pulled at her lips as she recognised the back of his dark afro, the turquoise scrubs and the immaculate trainers. Ruby's flat shoes muffled any sound her crossing made so the thirty-something mortician failed to notice her coming to a halt behind him. Leaning up on tip-toe to accommodate his 6'3 frame, Ruby quickly cupped her hands around his eyes and whispered 'Guess who?' into his ear. She felt his body freeze before dropping her hands and allowing him to turn around and identify his tormentor.

'It's been awhile; Jahmene Ray.' Ruby said, her smile faltering when Jahmene's face remained stoic and serious as he observed the violently red-haired woman with slightly muddy, green eyes. He'd remembered them to be brighter, but now the colour was murky, as if someone had mixed dirt into a glossy mixture of paint. His eyes ran up and down her figure, taking in the dark jeans, striped top and suit jacket while she quickly swallowed her disappointment at his cold welcome. She hadn't seen him or his face in almost a year and a half. His dark eyes were still framed by thick eyelashes, his nose continued to be perfectly straight, his cheekbones still pressed against his mahogany skin and the jawline remained as defined as ever. Yes, Jahmene Ray was a great catch for any woman; his looks were matched step for step by his quirky personality… his sexual orientation however, was as straight as a roundabout.

'_Red_?' Jahmene eventually croaked, not daring to believe his eyes.

'The one and only.' Ruby said, her smile returning at the sound of her old nickname. A well-crafted hand, perfect for the delicate work of a mortician reached out and flipped back her jacket, revealing a brace lapping over her top and plunging into the waistband of her jeans supporting the black and white pattern of a keyboard.

'Mother of Oprah Winfrey…' Jahmene murmured. Before Ruby could return his blinding smile, Jahmene's arms encircled her, lifted her up and spun her around in exuberant circles. 'You've _finally_ returned!' He exclaimed, his spinning attracting the attention of the trio by the door much to Ruby's dismay. Jahmene gently reunited Ruby's feet with the ground and surreptitiously wiped away a tear.

'Ugh, stop being so _gay_.' Ruby moaned, pushing a beaming Jahmene away.

'I never thought I'd say this, but I actually missed you insulting my sexuality.' He said thoughtfully, his eyes twinkling down at her. His attention was drawn to their far off audience and he grabbed Ruby's arm and hurriedly steered her towards them.

'Are you going to show me off?' Ruby asked drily as she was marched towards the other end of the morgue.

'Well, you only knew me in the North London Morgue. Now you need to meet the new people I get paid to boss around.' He said brightly, his grip turning vice-like to stop any thoughts of escaping.

'Is everything alright Mr Ray?' The female mortician asked timidly, her eyes curiously raking the woman he'd greeted with such familiarity.

'Hunky dory Molly, hunky dory.' Ruby couldn't help it; she visibly cringed at this remark. 'Oh that's right, you absolutely _hate _that saying, don't you Red?' Jahmene asked, grinning at the rediscovery of this small annoyance.

'Only when you say it.' Ruby admitted while holding out her hand to the mortician. 'Ruby Smith. Friends call me Red. Nice to meet you.' She said.

'M-Molly Hooper. I don't mean to be rude, but who are you exactly?' She asked after shaking her hand.

'This idiot's best friend.' Ruby said, jerking a thumb towards Jahmene.

'Red; our friendship has been on hiatus for eighteen months; how do you know I haven't replaced you?' He asked while crossing his arms.

'I'd be mightily impressed if you'd made a new friend.' Ruby said bluntly, smiling at Jahmene's offended expression while offering her hand over the corpse to the smaller of the two men. 'And you are…?'

'John Watson. And like you, I'm also best friends with an idiot.' He said cheerfully, his kindly face split by a cheeky smile as he nodded towards his tall companion. It was more the unexpected familiarity of John's friend rather than his striking visage which caused Ruby's smile to falter. Any recognition on his part had easily been masked as his gaze quickly flicked back to the corpse lying between them. The calculating eyes, pale skin and almost ridiculous cheekbones had to belong to him, yet Ruby couldn't understand how the curious character of Mr Holmes had once again entered her life. _It's him. Of all the days to see him again it had to be the day I finally get my life back. _She thought bitterly, a slight dread stretching like a dragon in the depths of her stomach, worry about Mr Holmes written in violet letters along its black, leathery body.

'Sherlock Holmes.' He said stiffly, introducing himself more to the dead body than to Ruby and ignoring her outstretched hand. It seemed he was going to snub any previous acquaintance they'd forged during their initial encounter which was so bizarre Ruby knew she would never forget it.

'A pleasure to meet you.' Ruby said coldly as her arm fell limply to her side. She quickly re-arranged her thunderstruck expression into one of slight offence at Mr Holmes' complete disregard for manners and returned John's apologetic smile.

'So, who was she?' Ruby asked, directing her question to John.

'Sorry?' He asked.

'Was she a relative, a friend…?' Ruby asked, looking at the corpse and then back to John.

'Oh no, God no, we're not identifying the body!' John said with a nervous laugh as Sherlock continued to study the corpse.

'So you're with the police?' Ruby asked.

'Well… sort of.' He scratched the back of his head.

'Sherlock's a consulting detective and John's his colleague.' Molly piped up, her cheeks flushing slightly as she spoke.

'Not _a _consulting detective Molly, _the_ consulting detective. I'm the only one in the world.' Sherlock said disparagingly, examining the dead woman's hand which until now Ruby hadn't realised was missing a thumb.

'_Consulting_ detective?' Ruby asked curiously. He hadn't told her that the last time they'd met.

'When the police's incompetence renders their criminal-catching skills useless, my services are called upon to provide enlightenment and to of course catch the criminal.' Sherlock said absentmindedly.

'And I suppose you have to be ridiculously smart to fulfil that role?' Ruby asked sarcastically, finding the notion of a man single-handedly solving crimes a ludicrous one.

'Actually… he sort of is.' John said while placing his hands behind his back. Ruby glanced at Molly, then at Jahmene and found their expressions supporting this humble statement. She returned her gaze to a smug looking Sherlock, still far from convinced.

'You'll have to forgive me for not believing you.' Ruby said plainly, her frank dismissal stirring a smouldering anger in the pit of Sherlock's stomach and prompting a tense silence.

'Do people call you Red because of your hair colour?' Molly asked, quickly trying to change the subject. Ruby fingered one of her crimson locks thoughtfully before carelessly tossing it over her shoulder.

'Sure. The colour of my hair…' She replied while exchanging a shifty smile with Jahmene. He ran a hand through her hair, comparing it to the colour of her skin and fanning it around her green eyes, nodding in approval.

'It's a nice shade you went for though you're going to attract the wrong attention from those dogs you work with.' Jahmene said with a knowing look.

'You're a vet?' John asked, looking mildly interested.

'Of course she isn't a _vet_.' Sherlock said exasperatedly, rising quickly and looking at Ruby with furiously calculating eyes.

'Then what am I?' Ruby asked challengingly, placing a hand in the pocket of her jacket.

'What are you? _What_ are _you_? Well, to start, your occupation consists of serving the London Metropolitan as a mediocre police officer–'

'Sherlock, I don't think now is the time to be showing off–' John began.

'John, as a natural sceptic Ms Smith believes I cannot possibly carry out my job leaving me only one choice: to shatter this illusion with evidence supporting my sound premise. And also, if you think she's a vet, then I _clearly_ need to clarify the obvious.' Sherlock said harshly.

'I… I apologise in advance.' John said to Ruby and after heaving a sigh, he looked helplessly at his wired friend. Sherlock focused his attention on Ruby which she found to be a rather uncomfortable experience, his laser-like stare made her feel dreadfully self-conscious.

'You've just finished an undercover operation lasting a period of eighteen months hence why your hair is freshly dyed as you evidently couldn't have such a striking hair colour when the ideal undercover officer is supposed to clothe themselves in mediocrity. You worked with North London Homicide, the only place in the entire British Isles which would sanction such a ludicrous operation and place all of the responsibility into the hands of quite frankly; a green girl. And yet despite these ominous factors, the operation was clearly a success, if your exhausted but satisfied disposition wasn't proof enough, the new detective badge attached to your jeans and hidden beneath your jacket which you're currently running your thumb over is testament to the level of success to which the quest concluded. However, it hasn't yet been made official as you haven't been paraded in front of the media as the youngest female detective in London history, smashing D.S Sally Donovan's previous record by I believe… 7 months?'

'Sherlock –'

'Quiet John, I'm in the middle of a streak. Though the operation was clearly a success, it dealt heavy blows to your mental strength, resulting in you seeing a psychiatrist who diagnosed you as being at the brink of an identity crisis and has advised time off work, advice which of course you never plan on following which I find myself agreeing with. The only way of reaffirming the true essence of oneself is by doing what defines one best; in this instance it would be your job, supporting the premise that time off work would only serve to ward off a recovery instead of encourage one.'

Ruby stopped tracing the outline of her badge and folded her arms while Jahmene looked on with a perplexed frown. Sherlock noted this change in body language and like a bloodhound catching the first scent of a fox, he thundered after his instincts. 'However, you're not returning to North London Homicide as during your undercover work you were replaced, an action you were afraid of happening but were promised would never occur. Next you've been moved to the South which you're happy about as your best friend has already re-located to the corresponding morgue but angry over as you view the casual transfer as a betrayal. Oh and you're _obviously_ nervous about starting as your new boss happens to be the very lady whose record you stole.' He finished his impressive monologue smugly, never breaking eye contact with the woman he'd been deciphering.

'Sherlock, you can't just go around deducing people's secrets from the colour of their hair or the position of their jacket –' John began.

'And why not?' Sherlock asked, breaking eye contact with Ruby and observing his best friend calmly.

'Because it's just _rude_!' John blustered.

'Well, the truth _is _ugly John –'

'Holy. Cake-baking. Superman.' That stopped Sherlock and John's bickering in its tracks, producing perplexed frowns on both men as they looked at Ruby.

'Sorry?' John asked.

'I said: Holy. Cake-baking. Superman.' Ruby repeated.

'Yes we heard what you said, we're unsure however of _why_.' Sherlock snapped. Ruby ignored this comment and turned towards Jahmene.

'If I asked you to pick up that metal basin and smash it over the back of my head, would you?'

'Why?' Jahmene asked suspiciously.

'Because I want to suffer from short-term memory loss _just _so I can experience that first-time round again.' Ruby said with a slightly delirious smile. 'I have no idea how you did that…That was… hang on, let me find a pompous enough word to describe it…' She chewed the side of her thumb for a moment. 'Phantasmagorical.' She whispered, a smile tugging at her lips as she muttered her favourite word in the English language.

'Well, if you say so.' Sherlock muttered; his initial anger and frustration disarmed by the compliment.

'Sorry… phantasmawhat?' John asked.

'Phantasmagorical John. A series of images or events with a dream-like quality.' Sherlock recited, secretly happy that such a word had been employed to describe his talents.

'Can you do that with everyone?' Ruby eventually asked, completely fascinated.

'Y-You're not offended?' John asked, looking shocked.

'Of course she's not John, she's just spent the past eighteen months undercover. It'll take more than blunt words to rattle her cage.' Sherlock said smoothly.

'And I suppose you deduced that from the way she placed her hand on her hip or the way she tied her shoes?' John muttered while shoving his hands into his pockets.

'It is a rare occurrence when I am taken for a fool, John.' Sherlock murmured, glancing at Ruby with a knowing twinkle in his eye, leaving the redhead certain he remembered their initial encounter. Sherlock fumbled in his pocket for a moment and brought out two nicotine patches and proceeded to slap one on each wrist, seemingly oblivious to the disapproving looks from both Molly and John. This excessive use of nicotine triggered something in Ruby's memory and a glowing smile slid onto her face.

'Oh Jahmene, that reminds me –' She said while turning to her best friend, hoping he would be pleased with her proposition.

'Are you really seeing a psychiatrist?' He interrupted.

'What? Yes –'

'And are you going to ignore her advice?' He was beginning to look very annoyed not to mention a little upset.

'Jahmene, you don't understand, she doesn't know what she's –'

'Oh I'm sure all of the years spent in college writing countless papers and reading stacks of textbooks along with the hours she's logged with hundreds of patients amounts to nothing.' He said dangerously while re-folding his arms. Sensing an impending argument, John tapped Sherlock on his shoulder and discreetly pointed towards the door as a quick escape to which Sherlock gave a curt nod. 'Do you really think you know better than an expert?' Jahmene asked sarcastically as Sherlock and John slowly edged away.

'Jahmene, if you'll swap father figure for gay best friend, I might get the chance to make my initial suggestion!' Ruby said impatiently. Molly's face blanched upon hearing "gay best friend" as for over a year her naïve nature had successfully sheltered her from her boss's sexual orientation.

'And what might that be?' Jahmene asked, oblivious to the change in his colleague's mood.

'I just wanted to ask if you wanted to come over and celebrate the rekindling of our friendship with a few Cuban cigars!' Ruby said angrily. This was too much for Molly who dropped her scalpel where it narrowly avoided her shoe. Sherlock quickly stopped in his tracks, all ideas of his escape completely forgotten much to John's dismay.

'Ms Hooper, a little caution if you wouldn't mind.' Jahmene said sternly.

'S-Sorry Mr Ray!' Molly spluttered, dropping to her hands and knees and clumsily retrieving the scalpel. She hurried out of the morgue to retrieve a sterile replacement.

'Cuban cigars?' Jahmene asked pointedly, his anger smothered by surprise.

'I have some of the finest – and very real – Cuban cigars which I received and saved for when I was allowed to return to my normal life. So how about it?' Ruby asked calmly.

'Now I remember why we're best friends…' Jahmene said with an easy smile, a smile which most women would swoon over and would provoke envy amongst men. 'Come to my place Red; I'll make you a well-deserved coffee to go with them.' He said after a minute's consideration. The reactions on Sherlock and John's faces were comically opposite with John's confused expression contrasting magnificently with Sherlock's pleasantly surprised smile.

'Sorry… did you just say _Cuban _cigars? Aren't they… you know… _illegal_?' John asked quietly, unable to allow this conversation to meander along in this casual fashion.

'Hush John, you're only embarrassing yourself.' Sherlock muttered.

'What?' John asked with a frown.

'You've been watching too much reality TV or more accurately _American _reality TV. You know, one of the very few places which outlawed this commodity.' Sherlock explained in a rush.

'You don't have to act so bewildered. If you want some, all you have to do is ask.' Ruby said with a shrug.

'No. No no. That's not what I meant. I do not want any cigars _thank you_.' John said while making violent gestures with his hands.

'_I_ on the other hand, might be interested in a lone Cuban. You know. For a special occasion.' Sherlock said while taking his wallet out of his coat. Ruby managed to retain a politely disinterested expression.

'_Sherlock_! You can't give up cigarettes and take up _cigars!_' John yelled, completely scandalised.

'Oh what are you going to do John? Arrest me?' Sherlock asked with a roll of his eyes.

'Wha- I mean, well I can't can I?' He said, back-peddling furiously.

'Obviously not, seeing as the only person here with that particular authority also happens to have the cigar I'm seeking.' Sherlock said while looking at Ruby pointedly.

'How do you know I have any on me?' She asked curiously. Sherlock smiled curtly before walking around the corpse and standing before her, his gaze holding a secret triumph.

'The same way I knew about your detective badge and the knife strapped to your lower left calf: Observation.' Sherlock said mysteriously, holding out his gloved hand. 'Although for a moment I must confess, I believed my epistolary knowledge to have failed me when I caught the distinct scent of a fine tobacco just as you entered the room, one which would satisfy a very strong craving I was battling.' He leant forward and comically sniffed the air around her, deriving befuddled expressions of disbelief from his audience. 'I should have more faith in myself.' He concluded thoughtfully.

'_More_?' John asked incredulously.

With a slight shake of her head, Ruby fumbled in her inner jacket pocket and procured a long box which she delicately popped open, the pungent smell of cigars spreading out like liquid from a broken glass. She picked one from the centre and delicately placed it into the palm of his hand. Sherlock ran the cigar beneath his nose, his eyes closed in evident pleasure as he smelled the tobacco before concealing it in his grand coat.

'Cuban cigars as fine as these are currently selling at two hundred and eighty euros for twenty-five, eleven euros twenty each plus conversion rate resulting in a rounded figure of ten pounds.' Sherlock plucked a crisp note from his wallet which he found Ruby unwilling to accept.

'Call it your fee for that classy deduction.' She said while waving his hand away. Although his face didn't alter, Sherlock was flattered. He always found himself glowing when anyone paid him a compliment concerning his abilities as it was such a rare occurrence for anyone to appreciate his talent while not being offended by his prickly and abrasive personality. Indeed, before John came into his life, Sherlock doubted the existence of such a person.

'So see you say… 8:30? Maybe we'll watch Inception.' Jahmene added thoughtfully. Ruby's eyes suddenly lit up and she placed a hand on Jahmene's toned arm, her expression looking at something the others couldn't see. 'Ruby?' Jahmene asked gently.

'I… I can watch… I can go… cinema. Jahmene, I can go to the cinema on my own again.' She managed to say while her hand began to repeatedly tap his bulging bicep. Jahmene smiled while stopping Ruby's persistent slaps.

'Well, if anything will prevent an identity crisis, it's you going to the cinema on your own.' Jahmene said approvingly.

'And why's that?' John asked, unable to contain his curiosity despite his disapproval of the previous transaction. Seeing Ruby's glazed eyes, Jahmene decided to speak for her.

'The main foundation for our friendship is our love for movies. But Ruby never _ever _goes to the cinema with anyone, not even with me; she always has to go on her own.'

'But why on her own? I mean, it's a bit odd isn't it?' John persisted.

'What's odd about it?' Ruby asked, returning from her epiphany. 'I'm strange because I don't want people jabbering in my ear or trying to stick their tongue down my throat as I'm trying to devote my full attention to what a director, multiple script writers, producers, actors, composers, casting directors, cinematographers, costume designers, set designers, CGI and special effects supervisors have slaved over for months to produce?' She asked.

'Well… I've never thought about it like that before.' John muttered, feeling a bit sheepish.

'Time to go John.' Sherlock said abruptly, turning on his heel and marching towards the door without a backward glance and certainly without a goodbye.

'Yes, well. Very nice to meet you. Good luck with everything Red – I mean, Ruby; Red – Ruby… Oh never mind.' John said with a dismissive wave of his hand while hurrying after the disappearing form of his tall companion.

'And you thought being undercover was bizarre.' Jahmene said with a toothy smile as the morgue door slammed shut after the unique duo.

'I certainly won't be forgetting that in a hurry.' Ruby admitted while running a hand through her hair. 'On a more serious and unfortunately cheesy note…' She began while turning towards Jahmene. 'I really did miss my big, movie-buff best friend.'

'It's nice to know you can be cheesy on important occasions. Besides, stiffy here isn't going to tell anyone Red's important secret, are you stiffy?' He asked the corpse. 'Best friends corpses, they keep all of your secrets. Unless you killed them of course. Then they're the worst snitches imaginable!' Jahmene said easily. Ruby smiled at her best friend, the familiarity of Jahmene's presence thawing some of the frost which had formed around Ruby's true identity, the one she hadn't resumed for far too long.

'Are you alright?' He asked quietly, his smile petering away.

'I need some time to remember who I am.' Ruby admitted, coiling a strand of hair idly around her fingertip. 'But there's no need to worry Jahmene, I will be fine.' She added in an oddly reassuring voice.

'Good. I've been eighteen months without my best friend. I want my robust, unbreakable Red back, not some damaged floosy who imitates some damsel in distress. We both agreed that damsels in distress are the very worst kind of character, one which neither of us will be friends with.' Although he said these words with considerable force, Ruby knew if she deteriorated to such an extent that Jahmene had to don the shining armour to come and save her; he would do so without question. Loyalty such as this was more common in fiction than reality and she clung to the friendship as a child would if it encountered a unicorn. Desperately. Hoping it would remain real.

She buried herself in the warm embrace which had comforted her throughout their friendship, seeking the understanding love which Jahmene was always so ready to give, the love which made her throat swell if she thought about it for too long.

'Thank you Jahmene.' She croaked.

'It's alright Red. You're home.'

**Please review. **

**Should I continue?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for reading and following my story, especially to Why Fireflies Flash and SkyeWalkerO66 for reviewing my first chapter.**

**Enjoy chapter 2!**

**...**

**Boy in Hiding**

The woman was lying face down in a pool of blood; her body awkwardly tilted against the cold flagstones, her skin comically pale beneath the harsh light. Crimson brushstrokes of blood were dabbed thoughtfully onto the handles of beer taps and sprayed along the dinged surface of the wooden bar above her. Some stools had been carelessly knocked over in a struggle and a table lay discarded on its side, spewing its beer mats onto the floor. Across the room, a roughly hewn symbol had been hacked into the wooden underside of the staircase. The rest of the scene was in orderly chaos, the room crawling with police officers and forensic scientists while outside the media jostled against each other, eager to break this bloody – and therefore profitable – news. Ruby dodged an enthusiastic intern who was taking photos of every stupid angle of the room to reach the symbol. She mulled over its meaning while taking a scalding sip from her morning coffee, wondering why it looked vaguely familiar. It appeared to have been carved into the wall with a small blade… perhaps a pen knife had been used? She traced the figure with her eyes, three spirals radiating out from a common centre in an almost Celtic fashion. But why it was here Ruby couldn't fathom, she expected to see these Celtic symbols inked into skin, not scratched into a wall of a seedy bar in London…

She audibly gasped when she realised where she'd seen the symbol before and just managed to resist the urge to drop her coffee and ruin possible evidence.

'Any idea what it means Smith?' A female voice asked. Ruby resisted the urge to jump at the unexpected voice and slowly swivelled around to greet the speaker.

'No Sergeant. But it must be important if the killer felt compelled to carve it into the wood.' Ruby responded, not wanting to admit to having that very same emblem tattooed on her shoulder surrounded by other symbols and coils of ivy. 'Have you seen it before?'

'For the last time Smith; Donovan will do. And no – I haven't.' She admitted in a quiet voice, staring furiously at the mark. Ruby's anxiety over meeting Sally Donovan, the woman whose record she'd broken had so far proven to be an exercise in vain. Two weeks had passed at South London Metropolitan without any incidence of jealousy; Donovan even liked the bold colour of her hair. 'Oh Christ, Lestrade's called the freak and his pet again.' Donovan moaned while looking at the entrance over her shoulder. Ruby followed her gaze and was surprised to find the "freak" to be none other than Sherlock Holmes with John Watson traipsing after him. 'Sherlock Holmes, the psychopath Lestrade forces us humble officers to work with.' Donovan muttered, her eyes narrowing at the duo picking their way through the crime scene.

'_Psychopath_?' Ruby asked incredulously.

'Well, he _says _he's a high-functioning sociopath but there's really no difference if you ask me.' Donovan said, pleased by the reaction she'd provoked from Ruby. 'I feel sorry for his "colleague" Mr Watson. Imagine having to live with the freak 24/7?' She mused, nodding to John who was struggling into a plastic forensic suit. 'Anderson and I have a bet on concerning when they'll come out about their relationship. He thinks they'll always keep it a secret but I think Sherlock will announce it to satisfy his attention-seeking nature.'

'Relationship?' Ruby asked; her frown deepening.

'Two bachelors in their thirties living in the same flat, solving crimes, spending every waking moment together… It doesn't take a genius to work it out. But when they do announce it, there's no way our fellow police officers will work with them and that as they say will be _that_.' Donovan said with a vicious smile.

'I don't see how Mr Holmes and Mr Watson's being in a relationship could influence their presence on the London crime scene.' Ruby said quietly.

'Come on Smith, you know what we police officers are like –' Donovan began.

'No actually, I don't. Now if you'll excuse me _sergeant_.' Ruby said coldly before marching away with an unusual amount of rage squeezing her intestines. She couldn't stand homophobia on any level and loathed its supporters within the police force. She side-stepped a sour-faced forensic scientist who she thought might be Anderson and stood next to a frowning Lestrade.

'Alright, alright. I'll get everyone to leave the room.' He said gruffly to a distracted Sherlock who was running a tiny magnifying glass over the length of the body. Ruby realised with a little unease that this was the second time they'd met with a corpse lying between them; a habit she hoped wouldn't be repeated in future. 'Alright, everybody take five.' Lestrade yelled over the commotion. The room slowly began to clear with particular officers throwing dirty glares at Sherlock when they understood it was because of him they had to leave. Ruby wasn't surprised to see Anderson leading the charge in this open show of dislike. 'You too newbie.' Lestrade said with a dismissive nod to the red-haired detective.

'What, do I have to bribe you with more Cuban cigars or just think of another scintillating word to describe your personality in order for me to stay?' She asked Sherlock sarcastically; annoyed that she was going to miss a fascinating demonstration of his unusual talents.

'Oh. You two have met then?' Lestrade asked uncertainly. Ruby ignored this question and continued to glare at Sherlock who raised his head from the corpse with a slight frown.

'The cigar is for a special occasion as I've already told you; therefore I do not need another. However, it is so adorable when ordinary people try to wrack their brains for any hint of original genius. Dazzle me with your knowledge of the English vocabulary.' He unexpectedly challenged.

'Not when you're being so bombastic.' Ruby muttered while re-shouldering her bag, the strap temporarily pulling back the side of her turquoise suit-jacket, revealing a rainbow coloured brace lapping over her white shirt and clipping into the top of her jeans. She nodded to Lestrade and prepared to head outside.

'Don't make any noise, don't offer any opinions and most importantly _don't _try to think.' Sherlock said, returning his attention to the corpse. Ruby glanced at John who shrugged in his plastic suit and she slowly edged back around the odd group to have a clear view of Sherlock doing what he evidently did best.

'Any ideas?' Lestrade asked.

'Initially: thirty-two. Currently: four.' Sherlock said, sheathing his magnifying glass. He picked up the victim's hand and a gleeful smile pulled at his lips, giving him a manic sort of appearance. Donovan's use of the word "psychopath" didn't seem as outrageous a description as Sherlock gently replaced the hand on the ground with an almost loving caress. 'The death blow was dealt here –' He said pointing towards the lacerated wound in the back of the victim '–which cut into the heart producing this lovely pool of blood. The thumbs have been removed post-mortem as was the same with the other murder just over two weeks ago. Same open wound in the back, same curious removal of the thumbs.'

'Sherlock, you're not suggesting these murders are _linked_?' Lestrade asked, completely taken aback. Ruby frowned at her superior, wondering how he found this possibility to be so out of the question.

'_Obviously_ they're linked which means we have ourselves a brand spanking new serial killer!' Sherlock said happily. 'The killer cut off the thumbs at the exact same angle and the death wound was inflicted by the same instrument, by my calculations an axe –'

'An _axe_? Oh the press are gonna love this…' Lestrade grumbled.

'Yes an axe! Can't you tell from the blood pattern sprayed onto the ceiling?' Sherlock moaned while pointing upwards where there was indeed an unusual display of blood droplets. He sprang to his feet and walked over towards the symbol carved into the wooden panelling.

'Any idea –' Lestrade began.

'Celtic three spiral triskel.' Sherlock said automatically while Ruby did her best to retain a politely interested look, hoping Sherlock wouldn't be able to deduce that she had the same tattoo on her back. 'They were originally found at Newgrange in Ireland and various gangs here in London have adopted them as an emblem to demonstrate the very worst thing any gang member can commit: Betrayal.'

'So this was a hit?' John asked.

'Yes, it seems that this and the previous victim both demonstrated acts of disloyalty which cost them their lives… and for some strange reason their thumbs.' Sherlock mused while returning to the opposite side of the room, crouching over the dead body again. 'But why their thumbs? An ancient sign of someone stealing meant their hands would be cut off, but a single digit? The killer was either trying to make a statement… or remove evidence. Markings on the thumbs such as a tattoo or a brand signifying the membership to a particular gang may have been the motivation for their removal. It makes it harder to trace the killing back to the killer… or so the murderer initially thought. Now Lestrade, you need to organise and send out a search party, it is of vital importance that you find him!' Sherlock suddenly snapped.

'Well, how do you know the killer's a man?' Lestrade asked huffily.

'No no no! The _child_!' Everyone looked blankly at Sherlock.

'Sorry, the child?' John asked the question on everyone's mind. Sherlock observed his audience with impatient disbelief.

'Can't you _see_?' He spat, his hands gesticulating wildly.

'Sherlock, you can't seriously think a _child_ killed this woman with an axe.' John said with a strained smile.

'Of _course_ the child didn't kill this woman, no. He did so much more than kill her, he watched, he saw what happened without the killer's knowledge.' He remained perfectly still while his eyes flicked around the room. 'We need to find him before the killer realises there's a witness to his crime.'

'Wait just a second Sherlock, before you get me to sanction a search party, how do you even know there was a child here?' Lestrade asked disbelievingly.

'OBSERVE!' Sherlock cried, springing to his feet and pointing to various parts of the room. 'Crayons beneath the bar poking out of a pencil case, evidently not for public use but for private signifying the permanent presence of a child in this bar, most likely scenario the child is the son of the victim. A schoolbag slung across the second balustrade of the banister indicates the child is a boy as not many girls in the 8-10 year bracket have an Action Man bag. He was heading up the stairs just before the bar opened as was per usual but something stopped him. He paused and returned downstairs, leaving his bag behind him. There was a crash as the door was forced, the lock snapping and sending screws flying around the room, one ending up at the edge of the blood pool.' Sherlock said while pointing to the tiny screw. 'Upon hearing the door being forced, the mother encouraged the boy to conceal himself which he does, his hiding place also giving him a prime viewing of his mother's brutal murder… John how long has it been since the woman was killed?' He suddenly asked.

'Um, well judging by the progression of the blood congealing… I'd say about thirteen hours?' John estimated.

'So the boy has been missing for over twelve hours… a ten year old boy, where would he go when home was no longer safe?' Sherlock thought aloud, pressing his palms flat against each other and resting his chin upon them. Ruby tried to remain as still as possible, not wanting to upset his concentration. 'Oh!' Sherlock suddenly gasped, his eyes widening as the epiphany struck. 'Yes, of course! Stupid, stupid, _stupid_!' He muttered, rapping his knuckles against his forehead.

'What's stupid?' Lestrade asked.

'The child wouldn't run.' Sherlock eventually said, his wide eyes trailing around the room.

'And what might give you that idea?' Lestrade asked incredulously.

'When faced with a life-threatening event, a child's main purpose is to find a secure hiding place and then to stay hidden for as long as they can.' Sherlock reasoned confidently.

'So what, you're saying the child's still _here_?' Lestrade asked with a chuckle.

'That's _exactly_ what I'm saying.' Sherlock replied, his eyes settling on the one place the boy would be if he was still within the room.

'And what makes you so sure?' Lestrade continued to tease.

'The Wood's murder.' Ruby said quietly. Sherlock's eyes flicked to her, but he held his tongue as he had no need to contradict her.

'Sorry, the Wood's murder?' John asked though Lestrade's face had already darkened with recognition.

'John, the Wood's murder was a further demonstration of the police's spectacular incompetence.' Lestrade grimaced but this didn't stop Sherlock from continuing. 'About a decade ago, a father was murdered in his home and his daughter went missing and though the house was searched, they failed to find the child hiding in the very room they were carrying out forensics.'

Sherlock walked towards the opposite side of the room and after reaching the symbol hewn into the underside of the staircase, he began to run his hands over the panels of wood. He then turned his back and slid down the length of the wall until he was sitting on the cold, hard ground. Raising a clenched fist, he began knocking, cocking his head to the side as he tried to find a secret entrance, ignoring the disbelieving looks of Lestrade and John. He continued for a long moment, feeling his credibility as the world's only consulting detective seep away with every passing second. Sherlock continued to ignore the meaningful looks exchanged by Lestrade and John and after a very tense minute, he gave up his theory, knowing his gut instinct had been wrong on this occasion and would have to suffer the ribbing he would receive later from John back at the flat. Feeling something akin to embarrassment, he stood up and dusted himself off, furious at making such a bold statement and having no evidence to back his premise with. He then clapped his hands together. 'Now, do we know any of the relatives of the corpse?' He asked, trying to steer the case away from what appeared to be a magnificent blunder.

'Sherlock, she has a name you know.' John said quietly.

'_Had_ John. She's dead now.' Sherlock said harshly, returning his attention to Lestrade. However, before Lestrade could respond, a very tiny, very quiet tap on the opposite side of the wooden underside of the staircase could be discerned. Lestrade's dark look was slapped from his face; John looked as if he'd been struck by lightning while Sherlock looked as if he'd just won the lottery without buying a ticket.

'Did anyone else hear that?' Ruby asked, feeling euphoric as John and Lestrade nodded. Sherlock had already leapt silently to the underside of the staircase and with a glass he'd procured from seemingly nowhere; he placed it against the wall and listened intently.

'Oh, so listening to walls is how we catch criminals these days?' A voice dripping with sarcasm said from the entrance. Ruby turned and saw Anderson leaning against the door, his casual insult failing to hide how annoyed he was at being banished from his own crime scene. Before anyone could say or do anything, Sherlock had carelessly lobbed the glass he was using as a make-shift listening device across the room, where it hit the door-frame and shattered, sending Anderson scurrying outside. Ruby stared at Sherlock with her mouth slightly agape, trying to process what had just happened.

'_SHERLOCK!_' Lestrade roared. 'You CANNOT attempt to assault a member of _my_ forensic team!'

'But his face is _so_ annoying.' Sherlock said defensively while winking at John who was trying very hard to control an inappropriate urge to laugh. Ruby felt very little sympathy to Anderson as Sherlock's hunch had been proven correct; there was indeed someone hiding in the room with them! She hurriedly dropped to her hands and knees and tried to remember where the little knock had originated from. After picking a spot, she raised her hand and knocked once more, silencing the furious argument raging quietly between Sherlock and Lestrade. After a few seconds, a hesitant tap was heard slightly to the right of Ruby's crouched position. A small slip of yellow paper was shoved beneath the crack separating the wooden panels from the flagstone with a message scrawled in green crayon. Ruby's eyes widened at the rock-solid confirmation of Sherlock's theory while Sherlock carefully picked up the sliver of paper which simply read:

_Password?_

Before Ruby could stop herself, words had already fallen from her lips. 'Action Man.' She said, drawing bewildered looks from John, Sherlock and Lestrade, looks which she decided to ignore. There was a slight grinding noise at this point and slowly a section of the panelling withdrew to the side revealing a small hole. Peering into the gloomy depths of the secret room, Ruby could discern a pair of wide eyes staring unblinkingly at her along with the shady outline of a child clasping his arms steadily around his bony body. Scared. Alone. Psychologically scarred. Ruby hesitantly proffered her hand to him which he stared at for another long minute. Ruby started talking quietly, crouching at the entrance as her gaze remained rooted to the child.

It took a little over ten minutes to coax the child from the room beneath the stairs and he did not utter one syllable throughout this entire transition. She'd sent Lestrade off to get forensic scientists to do something about concealing the body from view so the boy wouldn't have to live through seeing his mother's corpse again. In that time, Ruby had managed to produce the boy's name; Benicio, when she had asked him to write it down on the piece of paper beside the scrawl reading "_Password?_" After mildly assessing the child's physical health and asking him different questions, Benicio walked towards Ruby and stood over her crouched form, staring directly into her eyes for a long second. He was slender for his eight years and appeared to be of Mexican descent with sallow skin, dark hair and deep eyes. When Ruby held out her hands to show she meant him no harm, he walked through the gap and threw his arms around her, not to cry but to simply feel the warmth of another human being who wasn't going to hurt him. Ruby was oblivious to everything going on around her, from the fascinated look painted on John Watson's face as she continued to handle Benicio with aloof expertise to Sherlock's impatience to interrogate his new-found witness. She glanced at the covered window when flashing blue lights flickered beneath the closed curtains. Ruby knew Benicio wasn't going to let go of her, his embrace was too rigid, too desperate, she knew the paramedics wouldn't be able to prise him from her.

'No media.' She stated to Lestrade who nodded curtly before disappearing. She managed to pull Benicio's top half away from her body so she could speak with him face-to-face. 'Benicio, can you do something for me?' Ruby asked, making sure her tone wasn't patronizing. He nodded once. 'Will you come with me in the ambulance?' She asked quietly while Benicio scrapped a hand through her bright red hair, his eyes transfixed by the boldness of its colour. 'Benicio?' Ruby repeated, drawing those wide eyes to her face again. He gave another nod and slowly withdrew his vice-like grip from around her neck, his arms hanging limply by his sides as his eyes roved around the room, taking in all of the strangers prowling around his home. Ruby stood up and once again offered him her hand and as he took it, she felt the formation of a temporary trust. She marched a silent Benicio from the room and climbed into the ambulance beside him, placing him gently onto the patient bed while Lestrade, feeling someone with a superior rank should also accompany the child, clambered in behind them. John and Sherlock watched as the ambulance doors slammed shut and whisked the trio away to the nearest hospital.

'Now what?' John asked as the ambulance skirted around a corner and disappeared.

'We catch a cab.' Sherlock said confidently, pulling his scarf around his neck and popping the collar of his coat, giving him an air of mystery and grandiose as he stalked past the caged media and jealous police officers. John rolled his eyes at his friend's antics but hurried after Sherlock's long strides, hoping this taxi would take them back to Bakerstreet for a well-deserved cup of tea but past experiences had taught him to torch such hopes.

'Sherlock – hang on. Where exactly are we going?' John asked as Sherlock came to a halt and began searching for a taxi to hail.

'We've got ourselves a brand new serial-killer John! His murders are related to a betrayal of trust meaning victims number one and two didn't betray the killer separately, they tried to double cross him _together_. Now all that's left for us to do is to find what links these two bodies… For an operation to call for such a humiliating kill meant that this was no meagre betrayal; this was big and more individuals than the two initial victims were involved. Conclusion: the killer will strike again and will not stop until he has obliterated all of those from the group who tried to double-cross him.' Sherlock said quickly, his eyes shining at the possibility of chasing another serial killer which John knew to be his favourite type of criminal as according to Sherlock, they couldn't wait to be caught.

'Yes that's all very interesting, but where are we going _now_?' John asked as a taxi pulled up and the duo clambered into the musty interior.

'221b Bakerstreet.' Sherlock said to the cabbie much to John's disbelief.

**Please review, chapters will be written faster with more encouragement. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks again for the lovely reviews, for taking the time to favourite my work and for following me! As a reward here is the longest chapter yet. Enjoy!**

**...**

**First Impressions**

_Hospital coffee should be outlawed._ Ruby thought as she swallowed her last gulp with a grimace. She'd been stranded at the hospital for the past five hours while various doctors, nurses, psychiatrists, psychologists and councillors had poked, prodded and talked at a mute Benicio. Apart from the name he'd scribbled down all those hours ago, not a shred of information had been procured from the disturbed boy. Ruby still hadn't heard him speak let alone divulge information concerning the previous evening when his mother had been murdered with an axe. Images from The Shining and American Psycho came to mind making Ruby wonder if Benicio would ever be able to overcome this traumatising experience.

'Christ Smith, are you still here?' Lestrade asked as he rooted around for some change in his pockets.

'Yep. According to one of these medical magicians, Benicio's formed an emergency attachment to me as I'm the first person he's associated with safety after his mother's murder. I've been instructed to "hang about" but for how long, I'm not sure sir.' She muttered while chucking her empty coffee cup into the bin.

'I've just had a chat with the doctor and he says they're going to put him under sedation for a little while, they think he'll be in a more talkative mood when he wakes up.' Lestrade said.

'You're going to tell me to get my ass back to the station…' Ruby said hopelessly.

'Well predicted.' Lestrade said with a wide smile. 'The doc says you should be here when little Benicio wakes up, a familiar face will work wonders apparently… ' Lestrade said, not doing a very good job at concealing his lack of faith in this hypothesis. Ruby nodded with a small smile before turning and heading towards the exit, completely oblivious to the small child carefully watching her actions, his face pressed comically against the clean glass of his room.

* * *

Ruby was drumming her fingers idly on the taxi's armrest, hating the rush hour traffic they'd have to fight through in order to reach the station. She cursed the lengthy process of finding her a partner in the homicidal sector of South London Metropolitan. No partner meant no car. No car meant taxis. Taxis meant traffic. And traffic lead to idle conversation, one of Ruby's pet hates. The cabbie, a man called Gary, was an unusually talkative person who seemed to have an opinion on every lamp, roundabout and post box they crawled past. When these inanimate objects failed to rouse his curiosity, he would turn his attention to his fellow drivers, pointing out things only a cabbie would notice such as how the car in front would start blowing his horn any second due to the learner driver trying to cheekily sneak in front of him.

'Oh and look at these posers on our left.' Gary said with venom, drawing Ruby's attention to the black car which had pulled up beside them. 'Goths. That's what they call them these days. A few years ago they were known by their proper term: nutters!' He exclaimed. 'Would you listen to that racket?' He rolled down his window slightly to catch a taste of the music blaring out of the black car, its eyelinered passengers nodding along to the beat.

As the seductive lilt of a heavy Marilyn Manson melody invaded the interior of the cab, Ruby was irresistibly reminded of her time undercover as the song defined one of her strangest encounters in that bizarre and dangerous period of her life. As the song produced a greater hold on her, she left Gary's commentary about the disgrace of men wearing makeup far behind and was compelled to relive the scene which had taken place eight months previously…

* * *

_A black, polished stage lit by florescent pink lights dominated the room, accessorised with scantily dressed girls who danced and spun around cold metal poles, attracting the lecherous gazes of the elite clientele "The Flamingo" was famous for. The speakers pounded with seductively heavy music, blasting songs which no sharply dressed man would dream of listening to outside of these walls. The men weren't being watched, there were no spies reporting back to their girlfriends and wives of their current antics so it was safe to unleash the animal caged beneath their Westwood suits, safe to stare at the girls strutting along the stage in over-sized heels vying for the cash in their heavy wallets. Ruby had initially been disgusted by this display of animalistic behaviour but after working ten months at "The Flamingo" she'd come to accept it as being an essential part of the atmosphere. It had also taught her one very important lesson about the opposite sex; appearances may be deceptive but beneath the suits of these rich males lay the same needs and instincts of all men in society._

_Ruby caught sight of her reflection in the mirror-backed bar and waved to make sure it was her she was seeing. Waving back was an ethereal looking creature wearing a long, blonde wig, with eyes framed by fake eyelashes and heavy make-up while her lips were painted a come-hither scarlet. False red nails decorated the fingers which rested on her thighs, drawing attention to her provocative crimson bikini, the satin of which glimmered slightly in the dimly lit room. The ensemble was topped with a cardigan of feathers which almost fell to her feet sheathed in seven inch heels._

_'And what might your name be darling?' Oozed a voice on Ruby's right, a hand running over the feathers of her long cardigan._

_'Jasmine; I have a name-tag in case you forget.' Ruby said automatically, a crimson talon pointing above her left breast where a fake tattoo had been pressed into her flesh._

_'I won't forget.' The man said confidently, his gaze lingering on the tattoo for a moment longer than necessary. 'Can I buy you a drink?' He asked._

_'That'll be twenty pounds.' Ruby said softly, batting her long, false lashes at the man at least twenty-five years her senior and noting the considerable stench of alcohol on his breath._

_'Worth every penny.' He said while attracting the attention of the bartender. 'Darling, a bourbon on the rocks and whatever my charming little friend here desires.' He said sweetly._

_'A Chantilly Twist.' Ruby said meaningfully, exchanging a knowing smile with the mahogany beauty before she went about organising their drinks._

_'I've never heard of that.' Her companion said curiously._

_'I'd doubt you have Mr…?'_

_'Shaw.' He said a little too quickly, alerting Ruby to the lie he'd just fabricated. She glanced at his left hand and noted a white tan line signifying the nearly constant presence of a wedding ring. Ruby would never understand why the men circulating "The Flamingo" were drawn to such displays of tacky sexuality when they had trophy wives and girlfriends waiting for them at home._

_'Well, Mr Shaw, I would be very surprised if you _had _heard of the Chantilly Twist as it is a drink of my own creation. It is a secret family recipe used to prevent hangovers after a fun night out. ' Ruby said with a light smile, making a great show of crossing her legs so she attracted Mr Shaw's attention to her provocative outfit instead of the drink she was describing. Mr Shaw picked up the bourbon placed on the bar, knocked it back with two large gulps and slammed it down._

_'Another. And bring me a Chantilly Twist as well.' He added to the bartender, completely missing the grin plastered on Ruby's face. The Chantilly Twist was charged at nine pounds but in reality consisted of nothing more than water soaked with some mint leaves and a dash of cinnamon. It was The Flamingo's greatest profit producer and Ruby always got a little kick from screwing over the men who pocketed their wedding rings and told girlfriends they had to work late to hide the fact they were coming here._

_'Sorry to interrupt.' A stunning Latino lady with the work name Aurora interjected. 'Jasmine; you've been requested by another client.' She said meaningfully. Though her red lips were upturned in a pleasing smile, her eyes were cold and stony meaning this was absolutely non-negotiable. Ruby turned towards Mr Shaw and smiled apologetically at the angry expression wrought onto his hardened face._

_'Now wait just a second sugar, you _are_ interrupting us. I've just spent a reasonable amount on this fine lady here and I'm going to spend the next hour or so enjoying her company. You can tell this other fellow to wait his turn.' Mr Shaw said, waving his hand dismissively. Sensing a possible dispute, Ruby gently raised her hands and went about what she did best; diffusing tense situations while achieving her own personal goals._

_'Mr Shaw, I do apologise, if it were up to me I'd stay here all night talking to a man who's experienced something of life, unlike the rest of these men who are still wet behind their ears.' Ruby said in a voice which to her seemed hollow but would sound sincere to her client. 'Is there any possibility you would have the patience to wait for me?' She asked, looking up at the unnerved man through her long lashes._

_'I have to leave in half an hour.' He said gruffly, most likely his wife was already wondering where he was._

_'Then I simply _must _implore you to return tomorrow. I promise the first drink will be on me.' Ruby continued to ooze, batting her eyelashes once again. She could see Mr Shaw's resistance giving way and with a gentle kiss on his cheek coupled with a breath of her perfume, she sashayed away, knowing she would be seeing him tomorrow._

_'You've got the gift of the gab, I'll give you that.' Aurora said huffily as she marched through the club, oblivious to the way men's eyes roved after her perfectly rounded figure. 'This punter's paid triple the usual price for this session in exchange for your immediate presence. And remember –' Aurora said, suddenly grabbing Ruby's arm, her false nails biting into her flesh. 'We are _not _an escort service and we are_not _prostitutes. This guy may have paid more but you give him the usual twenty-five minute routine, understand?' Aurora spat, releasing her arm and returning to her usual glowing self as she pulled back the curtain of the private room. Ruby entered the darkened chamber and sat down in a provocative pose, waiting for the lights to be slowly turned on for her grand reveal, inwardly grinning at the gothic choice of song introduced over the speakers._

_Her attention drifted towards her mysterious guest, it wasn't a rare occasion for someone to pay more money to see her, regulars at "The Flamingo" nearly always had a favourite stripper but as the lights slowly brightened, Ruby was taken aback to see a complete stranger sitting opposite her._

_'It's unusual for a tourist to pay so much money for a particular girl.' Ruby began, her tone taking on a seductive gloss as was part of her private routine. It also hid Ruby's unease at a stranger requesting her at so high a price._

_'A tourist?' The stranger asked, his head tilting slightly to the side._

_'Someone who isn't a regular.'_

_'How do you know I haven't been here before? You may have danced for me and simply forgotten.' He said in a somewhat smug voice._

_'It's hard to forget a face with such extraordinary bone structure.' Ruby said smoothly, her eyes tracing over the cheekbones which were so defined, they cast their own shadows. 'Does the tourist have a name?' She asked._

_'Sherlock Holmes.' He said grandly and Ruby was inclined to believe he was telling the truth, making up such an unusual name on the spot was something only a truly accomplished liar could achieve. 'You're about to tell me you're called Jasmine which we both know isn't your real name seeing as that tattoo is clearly a fake.' Mr Holmes said quickly, his eyes flicking towards the curled letters of Ruby's inked pseudonym._

_'It isn't a fake.' Ruby said defensively, unnerved by this unorthodox start to this private dance. By now she'd usually be straddling her client and asking him what he wanted her to do, not be defending her stripper name. She observed her client a little more critically and noticed he was still wearing his heavy-coat and scarf, not exactly the most comfortable of garments in the warm interior of the club. 'Why don't you take off your coat? That way you'll be more comfortable…' Ruby suggested, trying to return this conversation back to lap dancing territory._

_Mr Holmes took in a sweeping glance of Ruby's gettup from her ridiculously high shoes to the length of her false eyelashes. Unlike the other clients she danced for, Mr Holmes' gaze didn't make her feel like a piece of meat; his eyes moved with an almost cold indifference over her figure, making Ruby question if he was into women at all. It wouldn't be the first time someone had come for a private dance in order to convince his friends and more importantly himself that he was attracted to women instead of men._

_'Do you want me to do it for you?' Ruby asked when Sherlock Holmes had still made no movement to discard his coat and scarf. She asked this a little uncertainly, knowing some past clients to be very turned on by such suggestions._

_'I think I'll manage.' Mr Holmes said in a voice dripping with sarcasm as he unknotted his scarf and smoothly undid the buttons of his coat revealing a surprisingly trim figure dressed in a shirt of deepest purple tucked into a pair of jeans. Ruby rose and gracefully picked up the coat which she delicately hung on the hook behind the door._

_'So… now what?' Ruby asked, placing a hand on her hip, unsure of how to direct this particular encounter._

_'Do you normally ask your clients that?' Mr Holmes asked._

_'No, but then again most men sitting where you are can't wait to get me on their lap. Forgive me for believing you aren't interested in any of the particular talents which I showcase in this room.' Ruby said while taking a seat next to Mr Holmes but making no effort to cross her legs towards him._

_'How do you know I'm not interested?' He asked with a slight frown._

_'Oh Mr Holmes, you would do me a disservice to insult my intelligence concerning the animalistic urges of the male sex. I know when a man is clearly attracted to me and when he isn't. Seeing as you belong to the latter category, would you mind me asking why you paid so much money to see me?' Ruby asked pointedly. She turned her head to find Mr Holmes pressing his palms against each other and laying his chin atop the praying ensemble, his eyes closed._

_'You think I'm gay.' He said suddenly._

_'It had crossed my mind… then again you wouldn't be the first man coming in here desperate to feed the illusion of heterosexuality. I thank you for at least saving me from that particular ordeal.' Ruby said honestly. 'Also, I picked my name out of a hat.' She admitted._

_His eyes flew open victoriously, a smirk tugging at his lips. He glanced at the slightly perplexed Ruby and shrugged. 'I got it right… never mind.' He quickly said with a shake of his black curls._

_'You've just spent about a hundred pounds to experience my scintillating company…might I ask what you plan to achieve from the remaining time? I mean… do you want me to… you know…' Ruby said while nodding to Mr Holmes' lap._

_'I was hoping I could employ the next fifteen minutes in a more lucrative fashion.' Mr Holmes revealed._

_'What do you have in mind?' Ruby asked._

_'I simply need you to confirm something. Last week, on Thursday night, a man by the name of Danny Cleary came into the club and requested a private dance and you happily obliged. Afterwards he claimed you went back to his apartment in Chelsea where you spent the night before exiting in the early morning, leaving no trace of your presence in his house.'_

_'Are you a pig or something?' Ruby quickly asked, hoping against hope that he wasn't, the last thing she needed reminding of was the very reason she was dressed in this ludicrous outfit to begin with._

_'No, not with the police.' Mr Holmes said aloofly, something strange twinkling in his eye. Ruby tapped her fingers restlessly against her thighs, unsure of how to answer. It was against club policy to talk about clients but she also had to defend her honour. It had been implied that she had acted like a prostitute, an allegation which she had every right to deny._

_'Why do you want to know?' She eventually asked._

_'Your answer will either send my best friend to jail or eradicate any blame which has been dumped on his innocent doorstep by the endless incompetence of the London Metropolitan.' Sherlock Holmes said quickly. Ruby was once again inclined to believe this rushed statement. It was strange having the truth so effortlessly displayed to her within these walls; she was so used to the lies which men spouted to either impress or to cover their own asses with. Before Ruby could respond however, she could discern a heavy footstep just outside of their private room and knew the curtain was seconds away from being ripped open as part of the bouncer's hourly routine to check on the girls. Ruby made a snap decision, knowing it would look mightily strange for a duo to be sitting and chatting pleasantly in a private lap dance room._

_She sprang into action, simultaneously shaking her feathered cardigan from her shoulders and leaping onto Mr Holmes' thunderstruck lap. Just as the curtain was drawn back, she lazily flipped her head in a circle, giving herself a windswept look while running her talons down Mr Holmes' very classy and therefore expensive shirt. With a hand pinning Mr Holmes to the seat, she knelt upwards and casually observed Lenny the bouncer._

_'Everything alright hon?' She called._

_'Just checking in. This guy giving you any trouble?' He asked._

_'Nothing I can't handle. Thank you Lenny.' Ruby said dismissively, returning her attention to her imprisoned quarry, liberating him by raising her hand from his chest. The curtain was whipped shut but Ruby didn't give up her position, leaning in closer and studying her fantastically interesting client with some curiosity._

_'What are you doing?' Mr Holmes asked in a bored voice._

_'Gauging your reaction.' Ruby said honestly._

_'And what have you found?' Mr Holmes asked. Ruby drew on all of her knowledge concerning the male sex but found nothing to apply to the man she was currently straddling._

_'Mystery.' She reluctantly admitted, her reply triggering a smirk on Mr Holmes' face. 'You are incredibly striking though.' She added, sliding a crimson talon from her right hand beneath his chin and tipping his head towards the light._

_'Why would you say that?' He asked, trying to retain his nonchalant disposition. As excellent as he was at concealing his facial emotions, Ruby could detect the stiffness in his body, especially his neck, where the muscles visibly strained to escape the scarlet nail tickling the underside of his chin. She was pleased to find her dominant position was making him uncomfortable and enjoyed the unexpected power-shift; the control of this bizarre encounter had slid right into her hand. Until she gave Mr Holmes the information he was seeking, she had an unusual amount of manipulation to exercise over this situation._

_'The main function of this room is to boost the confidence and self-esteem of any man who passes through that curtain. Seeing as you're not my usual client and you've paid triple the normal amount, I'll have to use my imagination in order to massage your ego–'_

_'What part of "I'm-on-a-mission-to-clear-my-friend's-name" eluded you? You clearly haven't grasped this notion if you believe I came here to have my ego pampered by the grotesque actions and slimy words of a common stripper.' Mr Holmes spat vehemently though he watched her carefully, wanting to see how his words affected her. Instead of becoming incensed at this insult, Ruby merely smiled._

_'You're adorable.' She said, taping his bewildered nose with the tip of her left index finger. 'Your words have no power to hurt me Mr Holmes, not when I have my war paint on.'_

_'War paint?' He asked._

_'This is my shield.' She said while tapping her heavily made up face. 'And this is my battle-dress.' Her arm extended over her provocatively clad body. 'The male race can be very cruel as you've so kindly demonstrated, even the average '"Joe the plumber" genres.'_

_'I thought "The Flamingo" didn't play host to such mediocre stereotypes.' Mr Holmes responded._

_'The Armani and Westwood create the illusion of an important person, someone who has distinguished opinions, understands something of life and is an all-round interesting character. Imagine my disappointment when they go out of their way to shatter this façade.' Ruby murmured, relinquishing her crimson talon from the underside of Mr Holmes' chin and allowing his head to fall back onto relaxed muscles. 'I promise after the nauseating flattery I will put due consideration into the question you've asked me about a certain Mr Cleary.' Ruby said; smiling slightly as Mr Holmes squirmed beneath her thighs but endeavoured to remain seated for the sake of his troubled friend._

_'The flattery is unnecessary.' Mr Holmes said, trying his best to sound dismissive._

_'You strike me as a resourceful man Mr Holmes. Would you mind explaining to me if not for flattery, why you would enter a place you clearly haven't frequented to ask a common stripper for her slimy words? Surely such information could be easily attained from a house visit?' Ruby challenged._

_'You can't run away here.'_

_'True. But I can have you thrown out.'_

_'I knew I would get what I needed long before you made such a call.' Mr Holmes said quietly._

_'And how could you possibly know that?'_

_'Because you're too busy having fun with me.' Mr Holmes said easily, the smug smile returning to his lips which until now Ruby hadn't realised were incredibly pointed._

_'Regardless, you don't really have much of a choice Mr Holmes. You need something from me but you've gone about procuring this information in a very strange way by coming into my territory and trying to usurp my power. It will reflect very poorly on me if you don't allow me to continue with some strands of tradition which this room expects. You've eliminated the physical aspect of the routine; you've left me only with words.'_

_'You prefer it this way.' Mr Holmes said._

_'Does that really surprise you?' Ruby asked._

_'Does it matter?' He asked, unable to keep the annoyance from his voice._

_'I guess not. Shall I begin with your physical attributes?'_

_'The suspense is killing me.'_

_They watched each other for a moment, the silent power struggle was something which Ruby enjoyed; usually she dominated or was dominated but to be fighting someone every step of the way was something new entirely. Her eyes raked over his face and she paused for a moment before she picked the correct words for her description._

_'To be frank, your face is quite bizarre.' She began._

_'Oh I can feel my self-esteem soaring already.' Mr Holmes said bitingly._

_'Hush. Let me finish.' She said while pushing a finger against his lips which despite their jagged appearance; were delicate and soft. 'The cheekbones look as if you chisel them in your spare time, your eyes are always restless; one might even call them erratic and these features are complimented by a very strong jawline. The overall visage shouldn't work, there are too many defined features fighting for the limelight, clashing magnificently at some points… but the most extraordinary thing is that it _does_ work.' Ruby admitted, tilting her head to the side as if understanding a piece of abstract art for the first time. Mr Holmes looked at her carefully as if he were waiting for her to burst out laughing at this colourful description. 'I think it's the hair… yes. Those black curls seem to tie everything together.' Ruby said with a pursed lip, resisting the bizarre urge to rake her talon studded hand through his curls. She held his left wrist up and studied the strong fingers, surprised to find four of them supporting callouses. 'A violinist; your tool for expressing the hidden romantic.' She squinted at them in the dim light. 'You're a damn good one too.' Ruby said with some surprise._

_'Sounds like a hollow compliment.' Mr Holmes said._

_'So you're terrible?'_

_'Oh quite the contrary. But you had no reason to know of my talent.' He said nonchalantly._

_'Au contraire.' Ruby said with a mysterious smile. 'I'm quite excellent at gauging musical ability.' She slid the sleeves of his shirt above his forearm, astounded to find three separate nicotine patches pressed firmly against his skin. 'You like breaking rules.' She mused, the nail of her index finger pawing at the nearest patch. 'But not for the sake of breaking them. You're breaking a very personal rule to see me because I have something you need in order for you to achieve your goal in liberating your friend.'_

_Ruby suddenly went limp, the fun she'd been having at holding this man within her power disappearing as suddenly as it had come. It was so very tiring to be dominating, for every part of her being to be sexually empowered from the tone of her voice to the manner in which she moved around the room. She felt the will to keep going seep away, knowing that on the surface, this encounter may seem like the most different and unusual experience of Ruby's at "The Flamingo" but beneath this façade, everything was the same. Ruby understood that the only reason Mr Holmes was here was the same reason any man came into this chamber: to extract a service from her. Once that service had been performed, Mr Holmes would leave just as fast as the others._ _Accepting this personal defeat, she shrugged her shoulders and took the only choice which all Flamingo girls were sworn never to take: she abruptly dropped her act._

_'You're also the only client who hasn't looked at me as if I'm a piece of red meat and it is for that reason and that reason alone that I'm going to help you.' Ruby said while pushing herself away from Mr Holmes' lap and resuming her seat beside him. She ignored the look of surprise at this abrupt finish to their power struggle and continued to speak in a deadpan voice. 'I didn't go home with Danny Cleary because I have never gone home with any of my clients, call it an odd principal of mine.' Ruby said quietly. 'He used to be a regular before he propositioned transferring the business we conducted here to his bedroom. I spent the rest of the night with Aurora; she needed someone to show her the recipe for the Chantilly Twist.'_

_Mr Holmes breathed a heavy sigh of relief, pressing the palms of his hands into his forehead, his entire body deflating from pent up tension. 'Thank you Jasmine.' He murmured while quickly springing to his feet._

_'You don't need me to sign a statement or appear in court, right?' Ruby asked quickly._

_'Unnecessary. I have all the information from this interesting interview that I need.' He said while discreetly tucking a silver shaped box into his coat pocket. Sherlock Holmes shrugged his coat on and swiftly pulled his scarf around his neck, his haste conveying his intention of making a quick escape. However, he had underestimated Ruby's keen eyes and her remarkable agility in seven inch heels. Before he'd laid a hand on the curtain to draw the material back, Ruby had smoothly pick-pocketed the recording device from Mr Holmes' pocket, thrown it to the ground where she proceeded to stamp the heel of her shoe into the contraption, breaking it beyond repair. Sherlock Holmes' hand fell from the curtain and his face held nothing but fury as he regarded Ruby with unscreened anger. In stark contrast, Ruby was an ice queen, commanding the nonchalant expression of someone deeply disinterested in the on-goings of this room. Her eyes were the only things which showed a flicker of her blazing rage._

_'You've forgotten your manners, Mr Holmes.' Ruby's voice tinkled with ice as she kicked the destroyed contraption beneath the seat. She raised her other hand which held Mr Holmes' phone, one which he was astounded to find he hadn't missed. He fumbled in his pocket and withdrew a bar of soap which Ruby had used during the switch to defeat the chance of her snatch being intercepted. The atmosphere was once again charged with tension, the pleasant conversation they'd conducted now a distant memory._

_'Are you going to destroy that too?' He asked crossly, his hand outstretched for the contraption._

_'No.'_

_'Then can I have it back?'_

_'Of course you can have it back, who else is going to be the cameraman?' Ruby asked._

_'Cameraman?' Sherlock Holmes asked, trying to screen his lack of understanding._

_'Yes. A voice-recording device is of little use in court these days or so the lawyer I dance for on a weekly basis tells me. You need unquestionable evidence.' Ruby said while handing the phone back to Mr Holmes, the recording app opened and ready to go. She aimed for the darkest part of the room, perched herself on the seat and faced the camera with feigned enthusiasm. 'Ready when you are.' She said to her unnerved cameraman, confident that her outfit, make-up and wig would suffice to conceal her identity when this was shown to possible colleagues of hers. Not quite sure what he was getting himself into, Sherlock Holmes found himself holding the phone at arm's length and pressing the record button. At the "ding" Ruby proceeded to make a simple address to the phone in her glossy voice, stating that Mr Danny Cleary was a regular client of hers and that she had not spent last Thursday night nor any other night with him, clarifying even further that she had never entered Mr Danny Cleary's house and didn't even know where he lived. Sherlock Holmes stopped recording and pocketed his phone, a little distracted by the peculiar antics of this stripper to realise he had all the evidence he needed to clear his best friend's name. 'You're welcome.' She said while stooping to pick up her feather cardigan which she quickly threw on, trying her best to hide her body as unusual feelings of a self-conscious nature prickled her skin. She was about to push past him and exit without another word when she found his striking figure blocking her path._

_'Why?' He asked._

_'Because I'm a nice person.' Ruby said scathingly, stepping to the side to get past him but he quickly matched her step._

_'You had no reason to help me and yet you did.' He said._

_'And you need to know because…?' She asked exasperatedly. As he thought for a moment, his eyes quickly flicked over her body, a cleft forming between his two eyebrows._

_'Oh!' He suddenly exclaimed, looking as if he'd found an explanation which told him everything. Realising she wasn't going to be allowed to leave the room; Ruby huffily crossed her arms and moodily glared at him._

_'What you need to understand Mr Holmes is that within this velvety padded room, my word is law. You tried to question it by taking away this encounter with you on a recording device and you can see how that might have displeased me.' The odd duo shared a silence for some ten seconds; Mr Holmes was staring at his reflection in the mirror-backed walls of the plush room, oblivious to the glaring stripper whose path he blocked._

_'Oh you are good.' Sherlock Holmes eventually muttered._

_'Sorry?' Ruby asked, genuinely at a loss to what they were discussing._

_'Convincing. You put on a very believable show.' His eyes glittered with a secret knowledge as he yanked them from the mirror and observed Ruby intently._

_'What show–'_

_'Your act, you could almost fool anyone.' His wiry hand sprang out and grasped her forearm, holding Ruby still as he leant closer. 'As I'm sure you've noticed; I am anything but ordinary and it is a rare occurrence when I am taken for a fool.' His gaze intensified, giving him a sort of demented look. 'I hope the detective promotion will be worth all of your sacrifice, Jasmine.' He whispered softly, enjoying her shocked expression as her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. Then his grip was gone, he turned on his heel and stalked from the room, dramatically closing the curtain after him and leaving Ruby in terrified darkness._

**...**

**If you feel like leaving a review, please do. I love those things, they make me do a little jig.**


	4. Chapter 4

**All the favourites and follows make me feel so happy, so I'm posting earlier than anticipated. Keep giving me these lovely things, I cannot help but publish more for you! **

**...**

**The Best Hiding Place of All**

The taxi ground to a halt, jolting Ruby from her intense reverie. The Goths who'd provoked the flashback had disappeared but the power of London's traffic jams remained absolute, leaving Ruby miles from the station. She gently massaged the bridge of her nose, unable to remember reliving a memory with the same intensity and sharpness as her initial encounter with Sherlock Holmes. Her eyes opened blearily as a relentless beeping noise attracted her attention to the sleek mobile thrown carelessly onto the seat beside her. She unlocked the screen and read the short message from Lestrade:

_Benicio missing. All units are to return to St Bart's Hospital to conduct a wide search of the surrounding area. It is of vital importance this boy is found._

Ruby blinked slowly and carefully re-read the text, unable to accept the message shouting at her from the screen. After reaffirming that she hadn't misread it, she turned her gaze to her cabbie. 'Gary? I need to get back to the hospital.' _Someone's seriously messed up. _ Ruby thought, unaware that her instruction had interrupted Gary's soliloquy concerning the reliability of the modern postman. The anxiety pulled and twisted at Ruby's stomach as the cab made a neat U-turn, freeing itself from the choke-hold of rush hour traffic and speeding back towards the hospital. It took less than ten minutes to reunite Ruby with the gloomy building and as she slammed the door of the cab, she felt a strange need to retain Gary's services. 'I won't be two minutes. Keep the meter running!' She yelled over her shoulder, feeling like an actor in a tacky movie as she ran through the automatic doors, dodging trolley beds and wheelchairs with surprising agility. She found a worried-looking Lestrade on the second floor, pacing backwards and forwards in front of the room Benicio had recently vacated. 'What the hell happened?' Ruby asked, her head peering around the door to confirm Benicio's absence. 'Who kidnapped him?' She demanded.

'CCTV shows no-one going into his room and forcing him to leave. He asked to go to the bathroom just after you left and we believe he escaped out of the window.' Lestrade said, running a hand through his thinning hair.

'So he just _left_?' Ruby asked incredulously, her voice unusually high-pitched. Lestrade shook his head.

'Security's swept the entire premise, he's not here. I've let Sherlock know, he's on his way. When everyone gets here, we'll organise a search party–'

'Right.' Ruby interrupted, abruptly turning on her heel and sprinting down the jammed corridor.

'Oi! Smith! Where are you going?' Lestrade yelled after her retreating figure.

'I'm going to find him!' Ruby roared, not bothering to ask permission to do so. She flung herself from the building and quickly threw her body into Gary's cab, panting slightly from her anxious exertions.

'Where to, love?'

'Give me a minute!' Ruby snapped; ignoring the surprised look Gary sent her via the front-view mirror. _Think! _She thought furiously, trying to calm her panicking mind. Lestrade had said Benicio had made his escape just _after_ she'd left. She checked her watch. Quarter past three. Benicio had been missing for over an hour. What did this mean? Why would he leave because she wasn't there…? She rolled her eyes fiercely when she remembered the doctor describing the unusual attachment Benicio had constructed with her. Her absence had led to him believing his safety had been compromised hence his departure from the hospital. His only goal would be to feel safe but where in all of London would Benicio go which was familiar, which had proven time and time again to shield him from the dangers of the world …? Ruby gnawed on the side of her thumb, flicking through the places a child might hide; a playground, a school, a relative's house. The list was endless and she could see no way of correctly shortening it. Her phone beeped once more but she could not contain her disappointment when the message was from Jahmene, spouting some nonsense about how their movie night had been so much fun and how he'd forgotten how brilliant Inception was…

_Inception…_

Ruby comically slapped her forehead as the epiphany came crashing down around her ears, unable to believe the ingenuity of the solution Benicio had created. No police officer would _dream_ of looking there making it the ideal place for a child to hide! She quickly gave the address to Gary and her anxiety lessened slightly when the route to her destination was almost free of traffic. Ruby didn't say a word to her cabbie, her eyes focused out of the window, chewing firmly on the side of her thumb. At every traffic light she had to stifle the urge to jump from the cab and finish the journey on foot, knowing that in the long-run, staying within the taxi would get her there faster. Sensing that some dire situation was at hand, Gary withheld his vast opinions on the series of inanimate objects they passed and dutifully took on the role of obedient cabdriver whose only goal in life was to convey his passengers to their destination. After suppressing three separate urges to cancel her theory and ask Gary to turn the cab around, they arrived. Ruby threw far too much money into Gary's lap and yelled her eternal gratitude through his slightly open window, leaving a perplexed cabbie staring after her retreating figure, wondering what business such a young woman had to conduct in this dodgy part of London.

The wind nipped at Ruby's exposed hands and face but she didn't care, her pace increasing to a hybrid between a walk and a jog, chills chasing through her legs as the building loomed ahead. She quietly ducked beneath the police tape running over the door and entered the seedy, deserted bar. The natural light was poor as the gloomy day had access through one skylight at the far end of the room, highlighting the staircase with the Celtic triple triskle hacked onto its surface. The panel of the door had been pulled across once again and when Ruby held her breath and remained completely still, she could hear stifled sobs escape from beneath the slight gap where Benicio had once passed her a note. She couldn't believe her hunch had been proven correct; that Benicio would return to the site of his mother's murder in order to regain the feelings of security and safety which he'd been so violently separated from. She glanced behind the bar and saw the white outline of the body chalked upon the flagstones, something which Benicio couldn't have missed upon entering the room. After checking to make sure the bar was completely deserted, Ruby approached the underside of the stairs and hesitantly knocked on the wooden panels.

The sobbing immediately stopped.

'Benicio?' Ruby asked softly, hoping he would knock back but knowing for now that he wouldn't. 'I'm here Benicio.' She repeated, settling into a more comfortable position on the flagstones. She heard a slight scuffle and noticed a yellow piece of paper sticking out beside her. She hesitantly took up the sheet which read:

_I'm scared._

Ruby sighed while holding the paper in her hand like a delicate china doll. How did she begin to comfort the poor child quavering behind her, what security could she offer little Benicio? Before she could further pursue this problem, the door snapped open and in stormed Sherlock Holmes followed by a slightly out of breath John Watson. The two groups observed each other with complete surprise, neither expecting the other party to be present.

'What are _you_ doing here?' Sherlock asked briskly, as if Ruby was an uninvited guest. Ruby didn't respond, she pointed her thumb carelessly behind her at the underside of the staircase instead. 'So you… you figured it out?' He asked, beginning to pace backwards and forwards while making odd, jerky movements. John and Ruby watched his progress with uncertain curiosity. 'And how was it that you deduced the child's whereabouts?' Sherlock asked, seemingly having no interest in the current situation at hand. Ruby couldn't speak; she just had one dull thought circulating her brain: _You've seen me as a stripper. You've seen me as a stripper. You've seen me as a stripper. You've seen me… _She realised it must have been John Watson who had so desperately needed that recorded footage which she'd taken all of those months ago.

'Sherlock, there's a child beneath the staircase who takes priority, not how Detective Smith managed to get here before –' John began.

'_How_? I need to know.' He said while focusing on Ruby, waving away John's protests and pausing in his pacing. Ruby could only stare at Sherlock in disappointed amazement. _How can he care so little for Benicio? _She thought glumly, opting to ignore his keen and eager gaze and focus on the issue at hand. She raised a fist and knocked again, her knuckles stinging against the hard wood.

'Benicio?' She called. Another scuffle. Another scrap of paper.

_Make them go away. _

Getting to her feet, Ruby crossed the room and beckoned the others to follow her outside which thankfully, they did. She pressed the strip of paper into John's hand, hoping his intact common sense would steady his eccentric companion's antics. He glanced down at the writing, his eyebrows deeply furrowing at the words scrawled in green crayon. 'Yes, alright. We'll stay here.' John said knowingly, while nodding his head with obedience.

'We most certainly will _not_.' Sherlock said with derision, completely outraged at the thought of being bossed around by a member of the police force.

'Yes Sherlock, we _will_. D'you want us to alert Lestrade about Benicio?' John asked kindly.

'Already have, he should be here with the abysmal cavalry in five minutes.' Sherlock said dismissively.

'I'm going to see if I can coax him out again.' Ruby said before turning on her heel, slamming the door and leaving the odd duo behind her.

'When the hell did you do that?' John asked incredulously.

'Do what?' Sherlock asked, glaring furiously at the building he'd been barred from.

'Alert Lestrade! We've only been here two minutes –'

'Enroute.'

'In the taxi? But we didn't know that Benicio–'

'Ah, but I did.'

'Sherlock, you had a _hunch_ –'

'Not a hunch John, a well-educated guess. And judging by my spectacular track-record, they are slightly more reliable than your average commoner's.' He then took out his phone and began tapping at the screen with fevered enthusiasm. John watched this spontaneous energy burst with his usual sigh of disdain, unable to fathom where Sherlock managed to produce such spurts of energetic research when he refused almost all food while on a case.

'What are you doing?' He eventually asked.

'Locating Benicio's sister.'

'He has a s_ister_?'

'Of course he has a sister John!' Sherlock said, dispelling the air from his lungs in an exasperated manner. 'The sister is much older, ten years by my count, not needing to return here she has most likely been staying at her own place. Family relations are poor and seeing as Lestrade hasn't released the identity of victim number two, she most likely has no idea of her mother's current predicament.' He expelled these words with an aloof nature which any ordinary person would associate with a psychopath. However, John Watson was perhaps the only person in the world who understood that Sherlock's burial of emotions was simply to free his extraordinary ability and to allow him to exercise it to its maximum capacity, saving more lives as a result. Putting up with his seemingly cold and heartless disposition was a very small price which John and Lestrade were more than willing to pay. 'She lives about ten miles from here, might be nice to pop in, inform her of her mother's death –'

'I've no idea how you located her so quickly but we are _not _going to visit Benicio's sister to inform her of her mother's death!' John expostulated, positively outraged by the notion of Sherlock breaking such sensitive information.

'Of course _we_ aren't going. _You_ are.' Sherlock said with a challenging smile, knowing his friend's efforts to avoid such an errand would after very little cajoling, result in him giving in.

'Why do _I_ need to go and break the news to this poor girl? It isn't my job!' John protested.

'Would you rather if I went?'

'Fine, I'll go…'John said moodily, shoving his hands in his pockets and lightly cursing his recklessness in choosing to be Sherlock Holmes' only friend. 'So apart from playing the Good Samaritan, what exactly do you want me to find out?'

'That's the spirit John!' Sherlock said, his smile taking on a more genuine dimension. 'I've written down what I need you to ask.'

'When did you – actually just give me the list.' John said with a slight shake of his head, Sherlock's ability to deduce people's personalities to such a degree that he could on some level predict their future actions never failed to astound him. He glanced down the list of questions, his expression becoming stonier with each line. 'You want me to ask about her mother's sexual activity for the past five years?' John yelped, his voice rising in thirds.

'What's so abnormal about that?' Sherlock asked innocently.

'_Abnormal_? Sherlock, I can't waltz into this woman's house, inform her of her mother's death and then casually enquire about her mother's partners! She'll need time to grieve –'

'Ugh. Dull.' Sherlock said in a bored voice.

'Grieving's _dull_? You've never lost anyone to an illness, to suicide to murder and felt _nothing _when they passed away?'

'Are we going to talk about this caring lark again? I don't see why you constantly feel the need to direct our conversations to this endless merry-go-round train of thought seeing as I do nothing but disappoint you.'

'Nope. Not going near caring, I'm just trying to make a point.' John said, sighing with impatience.

'Fine, obliterate that question, but ask everything else.' Sherlock muttered; his gaze drawn to something beyond John's left ear. 'Ah good. My pawns have arrived.' A sadistic smile lifted his lips as police sirens wailed in the distance. When he returned his gaze to John, he realised Ruby had re-joined them, a vacant Benicio clutching her hand, his wide eyes staring blankly at the ground. He noticed John's face holding a deep admiration, one which was usually reserved for Sherlock's most excellent deductions, a look which Sherlock was not used to being inspired from another person.

'So, you coaxed him to join the real world again?' John asked, a smile pulling at his features. 'Just a word of advice, make sure Sherlock doesn't try to talk to Benicio. At all.' He said in an undertone which Sherlock could still hear.

'Off you go then; John.' He said abruptly.

'What, right now –'

'No time like the present. And I'll save you the heartache, the answer from Ms Smith is no, but not because you aren't a swell guy and all, rather due to the fact that this dating business is a bit old hat for her seeing as she is disgusted with the male race.' John glared at Sherlock, feeling his colour rise as a result of this off-the-cuff analysis. 'Oh my apologies, I forgot, you absolutely _detest_ dyed hair don't you? So you wouldn't be interested in the first place…' Sherlock trailed off when his deduction rendered a boring answer.

'Fine. I'm off. I'll see you back at the flat.' John spat at his roommate before walking up the dingy road to find a taxi.

'Why must you be so mean to him?' Ruby asked as John's hunched figure proceeded down the street.

'The pure and simple truth is rarely pure and never simple.'

'Wow, you're going to exchange an explanation for a mindless quoting from _The Importance of Being Earnest_?' Ruby asked incredulously.

'You still haven't told me.' Sherlock said, deciding to completely ignore Ruby's last comment.

'Told you what? Ruby asked absentmindedly, her attention once again returned to Benicio.

'How you knew the child would be here.' Sherlock decided to omit the 'Before I did.' part of his dialogue.

'A movie.' Ruby muttered, pressing her cool hand against Benicio's forehead and checking his temperature. Her suit-jacket fanned open and Benicio's hand shot inside, pulling on the elastic of the rainbow-coloured braces hidden beneath.

'A movie?' Sherlock didn't like receiving answers to questions which he didn't understand. Before Ruby could elaborate, their small party was engulfed by uniforms and paramedics and they were once again separated, Ruby being conveyed in the ambulance back to St Bartholomew's hospital with a tired Benicio, while a frustrated Sherlock was left to find his own way back to Bakerstreet.

**...**

**Yeah, reviews are great. Just tap one in the box below if you feel like it!**


	5. Chapter 5

**My followers doubled since I published my last chapter so here's another one to reward you all! Also thanks to kate1243 for the review, short and sweet, I like it!**

**...**

**Shadowing a Ghost**

The rise and fall of Benicio's chest was slow and rhythmic; his lungs inflating and deflating like a hidden balloon whose owner couldn't decide which state he preferred best. Ruby watched his fragile form with tired eyes, unable to comprehend the sheer volume of traumas which had befallen this unfortunate little boy. This time yesterday, Benicio had been doing his homework, completely unaware of the tragedy about to attack him and his mother. Even in the luscious coma provided by the seductive lull of drugs, Benicio was still worried; Ruby could see the tension pulling at his features, producing the odd complexion of an old man's troubles resting on the brow of a young child.

'You studied psychology after graduating from secondary school.' A cold voice said abruptly. Ruby started from her keen observation and turned around to find Sherlock Holmes standing behind her, his sharp eyes glittering in the cheap light. He was wearing the same coat she'd hung up in _The Flamingo _but with a different scarf, his hands plunged deeply into its spacious pockets.

'How did you –' Ruby began.

'Your awareness of the hushed Wood's murder proves it.' He said nonchalantly, looking up and down both sides of the deserted corridor before taking a few steps forward. 'It was a very hushed affair and no new police officers should have any knowledge of that particular embarrassment. However, the psychological aspects of the crime concerning the daughter provided much interest and after some toing and froing, the case was added to the curriculum of certain child and adolescent psychology modules in various universities.' He carefully pulled his leather gloves off and stuffed them into his pocket before procuring his phone. 'It also explains your unusual aptitude for handling disturbed children.' He added before reading something on the screen, frowning as he furiously typed a response.

'What are you doing here, Sherlock?' Ruby asked. It seemed unlikely his only aim for his journey had been to deduce the degree she'd studied in college. He pocketed his phone and buttoned his coat before checking once again to make sure they were alone.

'_Wrong _question.' He said with a violent gesture, as if to swat away the very words Ruby had uttered. Ruby's eyebrows furrowed as she watched the incredulous man standing in front of her.

_Wrong question? What the bloody hell does he mean by that? _Ruby thought viciously, her patience unusually low due to the intense interest she'd taken in Benicio's case.

'How was the Cuban cigar?' She tried.

'Wrong. Saving it for a special occasion, _remember_?'

'Are you here to check on Benicio?' Ruby asked; her voice adopting a sickly honey gloss.

'It seems your impression of me has failed to accept my brilliance, why else would you think I might take interest in such _dull_ past-times?' He asked, his eyes rolling in time to the rush of his voice.

'Oh I accept your brilliance, more than my colleagues seeing as I've already caught myself defending you from the leader of the "I Hate Sherlock Holmes" club.' Ruby muttered. Sherlock's frown disappeared and was replaced with a slightly dumbfounded curiosity.

'Do they have jackets in this club?'

'I was _joking. _How arrogant are you to think they'd actually have a _club_?'

'It might not be an official one, by why not join in? I imagine it would get you into Sergeant Donovan's good books faster than catching five separate serial killers.' Sherlock said, his eyes adopting that laser-like stare which made Ruby wonder if he could see her skeleton.

'I like an underdog.' Ruby said honestly. _Especially one hated for all the wrong reasons. _

'What makes you think I'm an underdog?' He asked sharply.

'Does it matter what I think?' Ruby asked snidely, earning her another frown from the detective.

'Of course not. I care not for the way people perceive me.'

'But you care what people think about your abilities.' Ruby said shrewdly, remembering his furious deduction in St Bart's morgue a few weeks ago.

'It isn't my fault if people are unwilling to accept something which is so obvious it might as well be screaming at them.' He huffed, pulling out his gloves and tugging them back onto his hands.

'Your arrogant disposition to the side, I'm happy you figured it out.' Ruby muttered, sending a cautious glance up and down the corridor to make sure they had no audience.

'Oh please, easy doesn't _begin_ to describe it.' Sherlock said, just resisting the urge to roll his eyes. 'When Benicio gave you his name on that piece of paper, he also wrote something else, something which Lestrade didn't see, data which I need in order to catch this serial killer. But that is not the reason why I'm here. I could have taken the cigar case which you've stored the note in with an accidental bump as my pick-pocketing skills are sharper than yours.' Ruby's eyes widened at the casual reference to their initial encounter when she'd pick-pocketed his phone and recording device. 'And how did I know you kept it in the cigar case?' He asked, mistaking her shock to be inspired from his deduction, not from what he'd implied. 'When Benicio was playing with the strap of your brace, I noticed your inner pocket was slightly stained with tobacco, a strange thing as your teeth and nails don't yell "SMOKER!", meaning you still had the case on you leading me to believe the case was somewhere to keep things of importance, such as a small scrap of yellow paper with a description of the killer scrawled in green crayon.' His eyes were watering slightly as he finished his description, the power of his own skills and the smell of a chase sending excitement in dazzling bolts throughout his body. 'But that is not the reason why I'm here.' He repeated. 'Why would a young detective hope that I noticed her secretive actions instead of presenting her findings with glee to her boss, cementing her place in the force and gaining her the approval of her peers?' Ruby swallowed uncomfortably, that was a question she wasn't ready to answer.

'Alright, I'll give you a choice: we can stand around and chat about my feelings concerning my workplace or; I can tell you what Benicio decided to tell me and we can try and make some progress on this case.' It didn't take a rocket scientist to work out which option Sherlock would pick and the consulting detective was annoyed at being so easily manipulated.

'And what happens if I ignore your choice and demand an answer to my question?'

'I'll leave and hand over my cigar box to Lestrade.' Ruby said easily. Sherlock observed her darkly before offering her his hand. She fumbled in her pocket and took out the cigar box, trying not to laugh at the comical look of pleasure which stole over Sherlock's features as the smell of tobacco wafted towards him. 'Here. This is what he wrote. It's not a description though…' Ruby placed the small scrap of paper into Sherlock's awaiting hand.

'An address? The killer must have had reason to mention it aloud when Benicio was hiding, but seeing as he had no accomplices, he must have made a phone call.'

'How can you be sure–'

'Forensics will back my opinion.' He said dismissively before sharply turning on his heel and marching down the corridor. Ruby watched him go, stealing another glance at the sleeping child behind her. 'Coming?' He hollered when he was half-way down the corridor.

'I was under the impression you worked alone.'

'I need someone to bounce ideas off and seeing as John and my skull are out of the vicinity; that leaves you.'

'Did you just say a _skull_ –'

'Don't try and play me for a fool, detective. This is your data; you're far too protective of any leads in this case to allow a stranger to waltz off unsupervised with your information.' He turned and started down the corridor and Ruby hurried after him, knowing he wasn't going to offer her a second chance.

'Do you know where the address is?' She asked as they searched for a taxi to hail.

'Of course I do, there isn't a street in London I'm not familiar with.'

'You know _every _street?' Ruby asked.

'It should be part of the criteria for all police officers, have you any idea how few of you know your way around this city?' Sherlock shook his head while tutting loudly as a cab pulled up. He glanced down, surprised to see Ruby's face holding a similar emotion which John regularly demonstrated when he talked of his many accomplishments.

'That's… that's something.' Ruby said, wondering how many streets there were in London, never mind learning all of their names and knowing their exact location on a map. Ruby was smart, but the yawning chasm separating her and Sherlock was not one which mere I.Q points could traverse. She clambered into the taxi after the strange, dark-haired man and settled into her seat for the drive. Sherlock made no other attempts at conversation, preferring to stare out of his window although his mind was not on the small drops of rain knocking lightly against the glass. She in turn looked out her own window, wondering what the two of them would do when they arrived. She had no warrant for arrest, no warrant to search the premises, she had nothing. Unless Sherlock planned to pay the cabbie a ridiculous sum of money to perform a stake-out in this taxi, there was very little they could accomplish.

'Here will do.' Sherlock abruptly said after fifteen minutes of silence. The rain had increased to a steady drizzle though Ruby didn't particularly mind, her hands buried in her coat as Sherlock paid the cab driver. She fumbled in her pocket and held out half the fare for Sherlock who glanced at the money, exhaled sharply and started walking down the street. Feeling as if she'd offended the bizarre man, Ruby followed him into a late-opening café where he took a window seat and rubbed the glass with the sleeve of his coat to remove a patch of fog.

'What are we doing in here?' Ruby asked, knowing this wasn't the right address.

'Waiting.' Sherlock responded.

'What can I get you folks?' The waitress asked as she hurried over, her brow sweating from dashing around in her heavy work uniform.

'Coffee. Black. Two sugars.' Sherlock said without looking away from the window.

'A latte… and d'you have any of the house favourite pasta left?' Ruby asked.

'Sure do.'

'I'll have that as well, thanks.' The waitress took the menus away, leaving Sherlock staring out of the window and Ruby unsure of what to say or do. Some thirteen minutes later, he still hadn't wrenched his gaze from the window when a steaming bowl of pasta was placed in front of her nose. Ruby kept her buzzing questions to herself, some inner instinct telling her to eat her pasta and wait for the sociopath to break the silence.

'How did you know Benicio would return to the room beneath the stairs? You said something about a movie.' Sherlock eventually muttered, his gaze still locked on the window which he kept clearing every minute or so.

'Oh. There was this scene in a movie called Inception… have you seen it?' Ruby asked, immediately regretting her question as Sherlock tore his gaze from the window and gave her a withering look. 'Well as I was saying, there's this scene where Cobb; the protagonist, meets with a future accomplice called Eames in a bar in Mombasa –'

'_Cobb_? Well, we're _clearly_ dealing with the next Shakespeare aren't we?' Sherlock scoffed. Ruby ignored him and continued with her story.

'Cobb is his last name. Anyway, Eames informs him that he's being followed and Cobb knows he has to go but he still needs to talk with Eames. Before he leaves in spectacular fashion; he says he'll return to the same bar in half an hour after he escapes the men tailing him. Cobb claims that it would be the last place the men would look for him. And that's where I got the idea for where Benicio might be hiding.' Ruby finished, looking at Sherlock defiantly.

'An unusual way of getting your idea. Unusual but not very reliable.' Sherlock concluded while examining the long fingers of his hands, choosing to ignore the challenging glare from Ruby. 'Oh no, I'm not going to insult the film industry, not when there's such an animated movie buff sitting across from me ready to jump to its defence.' He said with a devious smile. 'But it's interesting to know you'd willingly go into conflict over events which happen in fiction.' He added thoughtfully.

'Don't act as if you have no care for stories.' Ruby said forcefully.

'I'm not acting. I am completely indifferent where fiction is concerned. Only fact, logic and reason grab my attention.'

'You're right, books and movies don't do it for you. But you're one of the greatest lovers of stories I've ever met.' Ruby claimed while sitting back in her chair.

'And what gives you that impression?' Sherlock asked in a bored voice.

'Reading a book isn't enough, you have to be part of the action. When you're given a case it's riddled with plot holes and you have to actively take part in order to fill these, giving yourself the same feeling which most authors and scriptwriters experience when they think of something clever to bridge the gap. In fact, your life revolves around stories to such a degree that your best friend writes stories a_bout _you figuring out stories.' Ruby finished triumphantly.

'That's quite a romanticised version of my line of work.' Sherlock said deploringly as he returned his gaze to the window. He glanced back at Ruby with a slight anxiety painting his hard eyes. 'You don't by any chance _read_ John's blog –'

'Sherlock, I work with the London Metropolitan, of _course_ I read John's blog. And it's pretty well written.' Ruby added.

'I hate it.' Sherlock declared as he returned his attention to the window. 'Across the road. That's the address Benicio wrote down.' He nodded at the building looming opposite their little café, deciding to draw the conversation away from the embarrassment which was John's very detailed account of his life. Ruby squinted through the dark, rainy night at the four storey high building across the street. It was neither fancy nor shabby.

'That's the address?' Ruby asked.

'Yes.' Sherlock said, searching Ruby's face for something. His frown relaxed when he didn't find it. 'You were very quiet in the taxi.' He suddenly remarked.

'I'm aware.' She devoured a forkful of pasta.

'Why?' It was more of a demand than a question.

'Um…' Ruby chewed thoughtfully for a moment. 'When I want people to leave me alone, they usually don't understand the subtle hints I offer them. You on the other hand might as well have had "SHUT UP" tattooed on your forehead; it was so obvious you didn't want to talk.' She took a sip of her latte, smiling into her cup as the smooth coffee lathered against her tongue, removing the abomination St Bart's had provided earlier. 'What are you trying to imply? That people can't read your anti-social signals? Well boo-hoo. That's the level of self-awareness the majority of the population employs.' She carefully twirled strands of pasta around her fork before raising the gooey, yellow food to her lips.

'Actually, I was going to say that it was… good.' Sherlock said quietly, taking a sip of his cooled, black coffee. A forkful of pasta hovered uncertainly near Ruby's mouth as she gave the detective a bewildered glance.

'G-Good?' She repeated, knowing she must have misheard him. She'd seen him dole out patronizing insults all day with her receiving her fair share of them. According to her colleagues, giving compliments was an action Sherlock had forcefully filtered from his personality. 'Why're you being nice?' She asked suspiciously.

'Don't be absurd detective Smith; you have spent the maximum of sixty minutes in my company since our initial meeting some eight months ago. What grasp of my character could you possibly think to have gained in that short space of time to ascertain when I am acting "nice"?'

'I don't have to look to you for that answer. Just the people I work with.' Ruby said easily. 'And for God's sake, don't call me "Detective Smith" it makes my skin crawl.' She took another forkful of pasta before abandoning her meal. 'On slow days you're practically all the office can talk about. Don't look so satisfied! If you could hear what some of them say, you'd swear you were the new Stalin or something.'

'But you disagree?' Sherlock asked; his smile fading.

'You know as well as I that my loyalties are currently undecided. Actually I believe that's the whole reason you agreed to let me come on this little excursion.'

'Oh and what _possible_ ulterior motivation might I have for wanting to bring you with me?' Sherlock asked in a bored voice, reluctantly pulling his gaze from the window.

'Lestrade's getting old. When he retires – which is sooner rather than later – you will have no other friends in the police department. You think I'll rise, so you're trying to force me to see you as someone who isn't the villain the entire police force believes you to be.' Ruby finished quietly, draining her coffee with one victorious gulp. Sherlock slapped his coffee cup to the side, drew up his elbows onto the table, pressed the palms of his hands together and rested his chin on the assembled pair. His eyes held the same razor dimension they'd commanded when he'd identified Benicio to be in the same room as them all those hours ago.

'You think I_ need_ you?' Sherlock hissed.

'No. I think you want to continue with your unusual line of work and view me as a possible investment; one which might make the transition easier for you in the future.' She said mildly.

'Ugh. Dull.' He said abruptly.

'What's dull?' Ruby asked, looking back to her eccentric companion.

'Planning for the future, it leaves no room for spontaneous action or creative thought.' Sherlock said dismissively. 'However, your analysis isn't_ completely_ wrong. I have some worry over what will happen when Lestrade eventually retires because he's obviously not going to be promoted – OH!' He suddenly gasped, his eyes widening as his lips curled into a smirk. 'Oh that is interesting. _Very_ interesting.' Sherlock said, looking slightly evil as he observed Ruby over the tips of his fingers.

'What is?' Ruby asked cautiously.

'I know why you came to me instead of Lestrade with that address.' Sherlock said triumphantly, his eyes brimming with knowledge. He flattened his hands on the table and dramatically leant forwards. 'It's because you think he's a little bit of a buffoon, completely incompetent where his job is concerned.'

'_What_?! Where did you –'

'You don't have to act flustered Ruby; you're amongst sympathetic company here. Your thunderstruck expression was practically screaming it when he made that stupendous remark today… now how did it go? "Sherlock, you're not suggesting these murders are _linked_?" Yes, I don't think I over-played the incredulous tone…' He muttered after producing an astonishingly accurate impression of the Inspector. Ruby ran an agitated hand through her hair, having a character as unpredictable as Sherlock Holmes knowing something like this was not desirable.

'Look, Mr Holmes –'

'Mr Holmes is my brother! And I was_ just_ able to put up with this repeated offence during our private chat all those months ago; I believe I have served my time with that formality! If you repeat this mistake, I will forever refer to you as "Jasmine" even in the presence of your superiors.' Sherlock expostulated.

'Sherlock, relax! I hate formalities anyway.' Ruby said while raising her hands in a calming gesture, doing her best to ignore some of the stares this speech had attracted. She took advantage of the temporary silence and changed the subject. 'I was meaning to ask… did everything work out with your friend? You know… the one that was in trouble?' She hated the thought of bringing up their uncomfortable first meeting but her curiosity got the better of her.

'Hmm? Oh yes. Sorted, got the right man. Proved the London Metropolitan wrong. Again.' Sherlock muttered, pulling his elbows onto the table and resting his chin on his intertwined hands.

'Christ, I don't think I've _ever _met someone so arrogant.' Ruby said scathingly while sliding her dish to the side of the table. 'Look. I get it. You're smarter than me.' Admitting that to someone who was not only aware of their intellectual prowess but used every available opportunity to boast of it wasn't easy. 'You're cleverer than anyone in this restaurant, than anyone working in the London police force and you'd have very few rivals on a national scale.'

'There's no-one in Britain who can challenge me.' Sherlock said smugly.

'What about on an international scale? Someone who isn't British?'

'There is one.' Sherlock reluctantly admitted, instantly grabbing Ruby's attention. She began to visualise a French version of Sherlock darting around the Eifel Tower.

'A challenger?' She asked.

'More of an admirer.'

'Does this fan have a name?'

'You think I'm going to tell you who my greatest rival is? Oh no, you'll have to _earn_ the right to hear my challenger's name.' Sherlock said with a slight sneer.

Ruby sighed while biting her lip. 'I'm highly aware you're testing my boundaries at the moment, seeing how far you can push me, what I find acceptable and unacceptable. But I'll tell you this Sherlock: Don't. Patronise. Me.' She said through gritted teeth.

'If I am not to patronize you then what am I to say? Shall I commend you on your technique as a stripper? Because I must say, you looked like you were having the time of your life in that provocative outfit.' He said in an unnecessarily loud voice. Ruby would have hit him had her shame not weighed her arms with psychological weights. Her face however showed none of this, only a cool disappointment at the man sitting in front of her.

'Wow. It seems I've a firmer grip on your personality than you do on mine if you thought for one _second_ I enjoyed working in that place.' Ruby spat.

'You seemed to be in high spirits when I paid you a visit.'

'And I've already told you why that was.' Ruby murmured, feeling disgust slither in her stomach, the sort of self-loathing found in long Shakespearian plays. Sherlock's sadistic smile faded slightly as he recalled their conversation revolving around how he hadn't looked at her like some piece of meat.

His eyes widened as another epiphany hit.

'You didn't agree to that overly long undercover stint to gain a detective promotion.' Sherlock said quietly. 'No, you were running from something, or more accurately _someone_ but couldn't prove it. Seeing as witness protection was out of the question, this was the next best thing.'

'Ding, ding, ding. Fifty points to Sherlock Holmes.' Ruby said, flicking some hair from her face with one hand while pretending to chime a bell with the other. This casual confession she hoped would steer him away from that murky area of her life, she didn't want her most intimate and frightening secrets to be figured out by this cold man. 'Oh and more importantly, what gave me away? What part of Jasmine's armour did you see a chink in?' She asked.

'You helped me.' He said evenly.

'And why would that have given me away?'

'Strippers run a thousand miles before they help anyone involved with the police.'

'I was too helpful…' She mused, drumming her fingers on the table, amazed that the small act of kindness had almost blown her cover. And it was deep cover which she'd been thrown into. She'd been stupendously lucky that Sherlock Holmes was a person intent on stopping crime, not one trying to promote it.

'There!' Sherlock suddenly whispered; his gaze locked on the clear patch of fogged glass. 'There are two of them, they're entering the house.' He said excitedly, his fists balling and relaxing on his lap.

'We should go –'

'No! Wait… they must be in the apartment first.' Sherlock stated. 'When we see their shadows on the first floor, we'll go.' Sherlock murmured; his eyes fixated on the windows of the first floor. Ruby promptly dropped any thoughts of her former identity as Jasmine the stripper and concentrated on the first floor of the building as well.

'I see them! Let's go.' Ruby said while throwing some money on the table and trying her best not to run from the shop. As the rain hit her face, she realised she had no idea what she was going to do upon arrival at the door. Sherlock had quickly caught up with her hurried strides and the two of them came to a standstill outside of the entrance. 'Now what?' Ruby muttered, huddled beneath her coat which was as waterproof as her socks. To Ruby's complete astonishment, Sherlock fumbled in his coat and produced a key before casually opening the door.

'Oh didn't I mention? This happens to be my place of residence.' Sherlock said gleefully, his mouth stretched into a genuine smile as he stepped over the threshold, leaving a thunderstruck Ruby dripping on his doorstep.

**...**

**Cliffhanger! Bet you didn't see that coming! (Or maybe you did, I don't know) If you liked it tap a review below **


	6. Chapter 6

**I was going to save this until the end of the weekend but you guys aren't having any of that, your reviews are too lovely for me to keep you in suspense deliberately! One of you said I should update when humanely possible so here you are, the next chapter, a nice long one to satisfy your Sherlock cravings... for now.**

**...**

**The House of a Legend**

'_You_ live at 221 b Bakerstreet?' Ruby's voice almost reached the ultrasonic regions at the end of this sentence.

'I do. And seeing as I wasn't the one who murdered Benicio's mother, I'm rather curious as to who has just broken into my apartment.' Sherlock whispered.

'You just let two people _break_ –'

'Quiet! They'll hear us.' Sherlock said, clamping his hand over Ruby's mouth. She stifled the childish urge to lick his fingers as punishment for this method of silencing her, preferring to wrench his hand from her face instead. Sherlock darted across the hallway and began climbing the staircase with ballet-light feet, leaving Ruby no choice but to follow him. She quietly ascended the stairs, carefully placing her feet in the same position as Sherlock had, hopping over a particular step which she presumed creaked. The two approached the landing to find the door of Sherlock's apartment slightly ajar, a small chink of light highlighting the wooden floorboards it touched, stopping just before Sherlock's feet. They progressed forwards slowly and Sherlock signalled for them to stop inches from the wooden door. He cocked his head to the side and listened intently to the whispered conversation happening just feet away.

'He's not here.' Growled a deep, male voice.

'He's got to be! Why're the lights on if there's no-one 'ere?' Another male voice replied in a higher-pitch. Sherlock smiled at this remark, leading Ruby to believe the lights had been left on in Sherlock's house deliberately.

'Choo sure you checked both rooms?'

'Yeah! I'm telling you, unless this guy has some sort of panic room he's hiding in, he ain't here!'

'He might, I hear he's smart this Sherlock Holmes. Leo won't be impressed when he hears we weren't able to whack him.' Ruby's eyes widened at these words but she was astounded to find Sherlock completely unaffected by this casual reference to his own murder. He turned slightly to her and indicated that he was about to enter. He took a revolver from his pocket, clicked off the safety trigger and walked nonchalantly into the room. Ruby didn't know what ungodly spirit possessed her; but she followed him.

'Good evening, gentlemen.' Sherlock said smoothly, both of his hands hidden in his coat pockets to hide his firearm.

The two men who started from their bickering were comically identical. They had heavy faces, dark hair, black, bushy eyebrows and surprisingly thick moustaches. They were slightly smaller in height than Sherlock but stockier in build, their clothes failing to conceal the muscles jumping in their arms.

'That's him! That's Sherlock!' The one with the squeakier voice said excitedly. He was holding a silver baseball bat which he intended to use in his favourite sport: head-bashing. 'Sit on the couch. Sit, sit, sit!' He ordered. Sherlock complied with these orders, sending a heavy glance to Ruby that she should do the same. _This is a dream, you fell asleep in the taxi and you'll wake any second. _She thought furiously as she awkwardly took a seat beside Sherlock.

'I am indeed Sherlock Holmes. How may I be of assistance?' He asked, completely at ease with the murderous burglars loitering in his living room.

'Firstly; the red-head can bounce.' The twin with the deep voice said.

'What choo talkin' bout Tommy? She's seen our faces! We can't have her blathering to the pigs!' He said while pointing his baseball bat accusingly in Ruby's direction.

'Hush, Jackie boy! Lemme think.' Tommy muttered, his eyes flicking between Sherlock and Ruby. 'Alright, you two just sit tight.' He eventually said while edging towards the kitchen. 'Keep an eye on em Jackie-boy!' He instructed before closing the glass doors with a snap. Jackie observed the two with a lopsided grin, exposing destroyed teeth.

'Meth addict.' Ruby heard Sherlock mutter beneath his breath.

'What choo say?' Jackie hissed.

'Hmm? Nothing.' Sherlock said innocently.

'Take your hands from them pockets.' Jackie sneered.

'Well, if you insist.' Sherlock said with a smile, removing his hands from his pockets with the revolver clasped in his right hand, resting the gun on his thigh. Jackie's eyes widened and he made to shout to his brother. 'Ah, ah, _ah_. Don't try my patience like the wall did.' Sherlock said sweetly, pointing behind him where multiple punctures littered the old-fashioned wallpaper. 'Why don't you drop the bat and join us on the couch here?' Sherlock proposed while patting the free space on his right. Jackie cursed colourfully before placing the bat delicately on the ground and slouching towards the couch. He collapsed onto the cushions just as Ruby and Sherlock rose, his mean eyes blazing with unconcealed fury.

'Can I see that?' Ruby asked; her hand outstretched for the firearm. Sherlock frowned but he was certain she wouldn't fire it so he handed the gun over without further hesitation. 'Thanks.' Ruby murmured, weighing the firearm carefully in her hand. It was heavier than the gun she normally carried.

'Careful sweetheart, choo might hurt 'urself by accident.' Jackie said in a horribly silky voice, his rage suddenly making way for masochistic glee.

Ruby slowly rotated the pistol so the barrel of the gun lay in her hand, the rigid design hidden from view as her fingers closed over the jet black exterior. She took a step towards Jackie and smiled pleasantly at his arrogant smirk before turning her head to the right with a frown. As Jackie's gaze began to follow hers, Ruby swung her arm so the butt of the gun connected with the back of Jackie's head with a sickening _crack._ The hairy monster gasped in surprise before slumping onto the couch, his tongue lolling comically out of his mouth.

'Don't. Patronise. Me.' She muttered as his figure yielded to the floppy state of unconsciousness. Without looking at Sherlock, she handed him his gun and skipped towards the baseball bat lying by the fireplace. She picked it up and gave it a cautionary swing, raising her eyebrows in astonishment at the fine craftsmanship which had gone into this weapon. 'What?' She asked when she realised the only conscious member of her audience was watching her. Before he could answer, the handle of the kitchen jerked and the two were reminded of their other guest. Acting on instinct, Ruby dropped the bat to her side and flattened herself against the wall as the door slid open. Tommy took three lumbering steps into the living room before realising the situation had grossly changed since he'd left.

'Hands in the air, if you'd be so kind.' Sherlock asked, making no effort to mask his enjoyment at this abrupt turn of the tables. When Tommy hesitated, Ruby slunk behind him and pressed the baseball bat into the small of his back and whispered something in his ear. Sherlock didn't catch what she said but Tommy's pupils dilated and his hands shot in the air as if Ruby had tweaked a puppet string.

'Oi! What did ya do to Jackie-boy!' Tommy roared, completely outraged as his gaze fell on the unconscious form of his brother.

'He messed with the wrong female detective, a lesson he learned the hard way.' Sherlock said smoothly, his words turning Tommy's face a blustering shade of puce.

'So the dame's a pig? A psycho pig more like.' He spat as Ruby walked past him, allowing the baseball bat to rest comfortably on her shoulders.

'That's detective to you.' Ruby said while flashing her badge. This seemed to trigger some flight instinct in Tommy who suddenly dropped his hands, lowered his head and charged at Sherlock with an angry bellow. Sherlock mastered his surprise by delicately avoiding the brute, keeping out of range of his pounding fists and flailing limbs, eventually employing the same, swift technique Ruby had used to dispose of Jackie with his gun.

'Moron.' He hissed while standing upright, a hand clasped over his right eye as he unsteadily stepped over his defeated opponent. When he lowered his hand, Ruby realised he hadn't disarmed Tommy without suffering some stinging damage. His right eye was already swelling, soon it wouldn't be able to open and a sharp gash gracing his cheekbone had produced crimson tear-tracts, violently clashing with the paleness of his skin.

'Sherlock, are you –'

'I'm fine.' He said sharply, lowering himself gently into an armchair beside the fireplace. Ruby stood awkwardly in the surrounding chaos, unsure of what she should do at the abrupt end of the bizarre struggle. She placed the baseball bat on another chair and returned her attention to their dozing guests, feeling uneasy about not knowing when they might stir. She took two sets of handcuffs from her bag and slapped the bracelets on the ruffians, checking their unconscious forms before taking a step back. Once satisfied with their dreamy states, Ruby ventured into the kitchen, seeking some ice for Sherlock's blossoming black eye simply for something to do. As she stepped through the sliding door, she came to a standstill and wondered if she'd accidently stepped into a parallel universe. _This isn't a kitchen, it's a secret laboratory_. Ruby thought as she slowly progressed into the room, her eyes drawn to the table strewn with the oddest ensemble of objects. There seemed to be no system to the jumbled mess, objects of a scientific nature such as beakers, weighing scales, measuring tape, a microscope, a large boiling flask, a pestle and mortar, two Bunsen burners, a tripod and numerous bottles of chemicals jostled for space with a plastic container half-filled with tomatoes, a pot of jam, a lone boiled egg, an empty toast rack, numerous empty cups, salt and pepper shakers and the odd sheet of newspaper. Ruby found herself enjoying the display of eccentric nonsense and progressed to the fridge where her smile was promptly wiped from her face. There, resting on a china plate depicting Big Ben was a hand – a _human_ hand – minus its thumb. Judging by the grey tinge to its skin, it was the hand from the corpse they'd met over two weeks previously. Ruby grabbed some ice from the mini freezer and shut the door, blinking very slowly before taking another peek inside – the hand was still there. Happy she wasn't hallucinating but unnerved by how the body part had been stored next to some cabbages; Ruby closed the door. She spread the ice on a tea towel, twisted the fabric so a ball of ice formed at the bottom and bashed it against the kitchen surface. She returned to the living room, casting another glance at the chaotic mess on the kitchen table before sliding the door closed. After handing the tea-towel of ice to Sherlock who accepted it without thanks, she opened her bag. She withdrew a pack of anti-septic wipes and lobbed them across the room, the detective catching them without glancing up. He delicately plucked a wipe and proceeded to stem the blood dribbling down his face which was in danger of staining the upturned collar of his coat.

Only then did Ruby allow herself to appreciate the obvious madness of the surrounding room. The initial encounter with Tommy and Jackie had blown any first impression from her mind and she could finally take in the same chaotic strangeness which had been demonstrated in the kitchen. Stepping over the unconscious form of Tommy, Ruby approached the wallpapered side of the room where bullet holes littered the wall at irregular intervals; a sloppy smiley face had been created from joining the unsteady bullet holes with luminous yellow spray paint. Some strips of wallpaper hung from the smiley's mouth creating an eerie impression of the innocent emoticon. Beside this hung an ominous poster of a skull which guarded a mountain of newspapers. The coffee table which Jackie's unconscious hand brushed against held yet more newspapers and the bow of a violin.

A music stand to the left of the couch spilt forth heavily noted sheets of manuscript, some by legendary composers and on further inspection, some notated in hurried pencil. _He can't be a composer too! _Ruby thought jealously as she delicately returned a sheet of manuscript to the teetering pile. The head of a Stag peered down from the adjacent wall, observing the curious on-goings of this apartment with dead eyes from its perch between two long windows. It overlooked a table situated directly beneath it, strewn with more papers and a laptop. Two bookcases heavily laden with many dusty tomes framed the empty fireplace where two armchairs were drawn. Sherlock sat with his knees drawn to his chest, his coat tails falling over the edge of the green leather, a violin leaning casually against the side of what was evidently _his_ armchair.

Ruby had to admit, the detective looked perfectly at home among the chaos.

She delicately lowered herself into the armchair opposite Sherlock, her attention captured by the skull perched nonchalantly on the mantelpiece. Ruby didn't fight the smile which tugged at her lips; she'd been brought on this wild evening of excitement as a replacement for this stranger's cranium. She tucked one leg beneath her and relaxed into the armchair, pulling a cushion sporting the British flag onto her lap. She fished for her phone and yanked it from her pocket, meaning to call Lestrade and inform him of what had just happened at 221 b Bakerstreet.

'What did you say to Tommy?' Sherlock asked abruptly, lowering the tea-towel full of ice as he spoke.

'I didn't say much, just a quote from a – WOW.' Ruby gasped as she got a full view of Tommy's right hook which had graced Sherlock's temple, her phone call completely forgotten. 'That's quite the shiner you've got Sherlock.' Ruby commented, doing her best to stifle a snigger. The swelling around the bruise had reduced but the puffy tissue was adopting a shade of sinister black, giving him the appearance of someone who'd stumbled out of a basement brawl in Fight Club. Sherlock would have rolled his eyes had it been free of pain to do so.

'You were saying?' Sherlock asked.

'It was a quote from a movie.' Ruby said with an innocent shrug. 'It wouldn't have been half as effective if I didn't have the baseball bat.' She added thoughtfully, eyeing the bat propped against her armchair. 'It's from this movie called _The Warriors_.' She resisted the urge to ask if he'd seen it. 'There's this brutal character called Ajax but he has some _killer _lines, one of which I recited to Tommy here.' Ruby glanced at the sprawled form of Tommy, his spread-eagled figure producing an inappropriate urge to giggle. 'You saw what I did; I prodded him with the baseball bat, leaned over and whispered the quote in his ear.'

'Yes, but what were your exact words? He looked terrified.'

'And he should have been, anyone whispering: "I'll shove this bat up your ass and turn you into a popsicle." isn't someone you want to mess with.' Ruby said with a slightly devious smile, pulling the baseball bat atop her Union Jack pillow. Sherlock didn't say anything, preferring to keep quiet and return his attentions to icing his throbbing right eye. She closely examined the bat; it looked brand new and certainly had cost a pretty penny. Seeing as the bat hadn't been employed in any battering, Ruby could see no reason why she couldn't take it home with her as a souvenir of this strange evening.

The silence was broken by a ringing tone and Ruby quickly unlocked her phone, raising an eyebrow when she realised no-one was calling her, it was her alarm set for 21:33. She turned the ringing off before pushing herself from her chair, heading for the door.

'Where are you going?' Sherlock asked.

'I need to smoke.' Ruby said bluntly

'You don't smoke.' He said stoutly.

'Yes I do. And I need one. Right now.'

'Your lips say yes but your fingernails and teeth say no. And besides, I have no objection to you smoking here.' Sherlock said, gesturing around the room.

'I'm not going to light up and wave cigarette smoke in front of someone who's _quitting_!'

'You sold me a cigar knowing I was trying to quit, tell me where did these noble intentions spout from?'

'You're not addicted to cigars, you're addicted to _cigarettes_. It's a fine line but a line nonetheless.' Ruby argued.

'In light of my _injury, _I would appreciate some second-hand smoke.' Sherlock said quietly, removing his ice-bag to prove his point. 'Look, I even have an ashtray for you.' He reached up to the mantelpiece and carelessly threw a crystal ashtray in Ruby's direction. She caught it by instinct but nearly dropped it upon reading the inscription.

'This is from Buckingham _Palace_?' She yelped, placing the ashtray beside Sherlock's laptop and slowly backing away from it.

'Not fancy enough for you?' Sherlock asked drily.

'Where did you –'

'Stole it. Imagine my surprise when they didn't send out a search party looking for a missing ashtray.' He said mildly before returning the icepack to his head. Ruby didn't want to _think_ of what Sherlock might have been doing in order to procure such an object. 'Why have you an alarm set to remind you when to smoke?' Sherlock asked, his one visible eye flashing in the dim light.

'Do you want me to answer that question or would you prefer me to light up?' Ruby asked bluntly. Sherlock scowled but made no further inquiry about this curious habit. Heaving a sigh, Ruby sat in a hard chair adjacent to Sherlock's throne, pushing the laptop away and drawing the ashtray nearer. 'The armchair's more comfortable.' He muttered.

'You're going to receive very little smoke if I light up over there, here will do just fine.' Ruby reasoned. She fumbled in her handbag and rested an mp4 player on the table, taking a moment to unravel the tangled earphones. She then produced her cigar box which contained Benicio's note, a small square of metal and a single cigarette.

'Is that a Treasure Cigarette?' Sherlock breathed; his eyes glued to the open cigar case. Ruby nodded as she delicately plucked the fine creation from the case and held it in the palm of her hand, admiring the craftsmanship of the cigarette with glee. Pristine white paper delicately wrapped world-famous tobacco and instead of a murky brown filter, a shining piece of aluminium clung to the lower end of the cigarette. Ruby held the elegant monster between her fingers and slowly withdrew the square of metal from the cigar case. It was no bigger than a fifty pence piece with a little trigger connected to a tiny hammer resting on its top. She pressed the trigger, lifting the small hammer and producing a surprisingly large flame.

'You're not to disturb me as I smoke this.' Ruby coldly instructed, placing the earphones in her ears, turning on a particular song and lighting the cigarette. She lowered her stylish lighter and took a long drag from the cigarette, holding the smoke in her lungs for a delicious few seconds before expelling it in a long sigh. She crossed her legs beneath her and closed her eyes as the soundtrack of a quirky French film, _Laurence Anyways_, flowed into her ears. Sherlock was silent as the fumes of the expensive tobacco washed over him, grateful for Ruby's right-handed nature as she held the cigarette in the hand which was closest to him. She appeared to be engaged in some short form of meditation and he was certain this was part of a regular routine for the young detective, setting an alarm to smoke was a highly unusual habit; regular smokers only needed their cravings to remind them. Sherlock stared at the elegant cylindrical design as Ruby tapped it against the side of the royal ashtray, aware that Treasure Cigarettes sold for around forty pounds per pack and were normally used by rich idiots to show off their wealth through a common habit. This however, was no showy demonstration. It was an intensely private ritual, one which Ruby had not meant to share with him. Apart from this single cigarette on a Friday night at 21:33 and the one-off celebration with the Cuban cigars, Sherlock was positive Ruby didn't touch any other tobacco throughout the week.

How odd.

After a lengthy, five minute silence filled with nothing but cigarette smoke, Ruby finally crushed the aluminium stub of her cigarette into the crystal ashtray and withdrew her earphones. She carefully replaced the lighter in the cigar case and pocketed it, sweeping the MP4 into her bag too.

'So which question shall I answer first?' Sherlock asked, looking pointedly at Ruby after she'd returned to the opposing armchair.

'How do you know I have any questions?' Ruby asked innocently. Sherlock merely threw her a condescending look. 'Fine. I'm torn between why Jackie and Tommy were here to give you such a warm welcome and the logic behind having a hand in your fridge.' Now there was a sentence Ruby thought would never leave her lips.

'The hand is on loan from the morgue, Molly kindly allowed me to take it for further observation.' Sherlock said dismissively.

'And why did you come home to find two murderous morons waiting to "whack" you?' Ruby asked.

'You don't _know_ –'

'Didn't you see what I did to the last guy who patronized me?' Ruby muttered angrily, gesturing towards the slumped body of Jackie on the couch. 'If you keep asking for a second black eye, who am I to deny your request?' She folded her arms and sat back in her chair again. Sherlock observed her sharply before letting whatever insult he'd created disappear from his tongue. He swallowed before returning his attention to Ruby's question.

'The killer _knew_ Lestrade would ask for my help on this case and he was phoning someone to take care of me after he'd killed Benicio's mother so I wouldn't cause him any problems. That's the only way Benicio could have known my address.' Sherlock concluded; looking completely absurd as he perched awkwardly in his armchair with his bag of ice pressed against his eye. 'The murderer couldn't have made direct contact with these two poor excuses for assassins, they're too low down in the food chain; he made contact with someone else, a middle man. Someone beneath him but commanding enough respect to get scum like these to carry out his bidding.' Sherlock's lips curled but it was a short lived action, the movement produced a grimace of pain. 'Leo.' He muttered.

'Who's Leo?'

'Haven't the faintest idea.' He delicately leapt from the armchair and opened his laptop.

'What are you doing?' Ruby asked.

'Hacking into Scotland Yard's criminal database.' Sherlock said casually.

'_What?_' Ruby snapped. Sherlock's free hand stopped moving across the keys and he looked at her with his one good eye.

'Have you any other ideas?' He asked icily.

'Oh I don't know. I could just _log_ in!' Ruby spat, wiping the smirk from Sherlock's face.

'Yes, well, that might work too…' He muttered while turning the laptop screen away from him in disgust. Ruby took the laptop away from the desk and entered her password at the farthest corner of the room. 'What are you doing?' Sherlock asked when he realised Ruby had swanned off with his laptop.

'Making sure you won't see my password.' Ruby said evenly, giving Sherlock a meaningful look as she logged into Scotland Yard. She tapped in his name and pressed search, resulting in a disgusting number of entries. 'There's hundreds of Leo's listed.' Ruby said hopelessly as she returned the laptop to Sherlock.

'Then we'll have to eliminate the majority of them.' Sherlock said confidently. 'Now he's young so let's get rid of anyone over the age of thirty-five –'

'How do you know he's young?' Ruby interrupted. Sherlock ignored her question, his mind bent on the search.

'He has to be living in London near our lovely house guests. But most importantly, what makes a good middle man is to have served enough time on the inside to know that when he gets back out, he never wants to return. So a small amount of time spent in prison, most likely two to three offences.' Sherlock muttered more to himself than to Ruby as he modified his search. This process continued for a tense five minutes while Sherlock whittled away possible matches with Ruby looking over his shoulder. The two unconscious men were promptly forgotten about.

'That's our Leo?' Ruby asked excitedly as Sherlock narrowed the list to one name.

'So it would seem. Leo Shannon, 29 years of age, convicted twice for drug possession and unauthorised possession of a firearm. He's only spent fourteen months inside. And if we compare his current place of residence, we'll find that he lives five minutes away from the same tower of flats as our dear Tommy and Jackie here.' Sherlock said with a small smile. 'Let's see what Leo looks like, shall we?' He asked while pulling up his mug-shot. Whatever Ruby had been expecting to see, it was not the smirking face of this young ruffian.

'Our middleman is ridiculously handsome.' Ruby said before she could stop herself, earning her a stinging glare from Sherlock. 'What? It's alright to admire a genetic gift of intelligence but may I and all my children be cursed if I'm to appreciate a genetic gift of beauty?' Ruby challenged.

'Intelligence has at least fifty years on beauty.' Sherlock scoffed, returning his attention back to the screen. 'John's back.' He added a full five seconds before Ruby heard the front door open. She shook her head slightly at Sherlock's casual demonstration of his intellectual prowess.

'I feel sorry for him.' Ruby mused as John's footsteps were heard climbing the stairs. 'Imagine having _you_ for a roommate.' She said in her best patronizing voice as she left Sherlock at his computer and fumbled for her phone. She was just about to call Lestrade when John entered the flat and promptly dropped his shopping on the floor.

'Um… Sherlock?' John asked, blinking slowly as he massaged his temple, his gaze rooted to Jackie's limp body spread on his couch.

'Yes John?' Sherlock answered casually, removing his tea towel which mostly contained melted water at this stage.

'Just wondering who the man on our couch is – bloody _hell _Sherlock! What on earth happened to you – _Ruby_?' John gushed, not able to process all of these quirky little developments as his eyes scanned the room. Ruby smiled apologetically and picked up a bag of fallen groceries, snatching a lone apple which had rolled dangerously near Tommy's hand.

'Hush John and take the shopping into the kitchen, that milk needs to go in the fridge.' Sherlock muttered.

'I want an explanation about what is going on in my own _house_ before I put away any _shopping_.' John blustered, his hands making small, jittery movements. He suddenly paused and sniffed the air, his eyes drawn to the ashtray resting innocently on the table. 'Have you been _smoking_?' John asked, completely outraged.

'Not me. Our friendly neighbourhood detective on the other hand…'Sherlock said, his eyes glancing at Ruby. 'And don't worry John, there's nothing much to explain. Two men broke into our house with the intention of murdering me, now they're unconscious and attached to sturdy domestic appliances awaiting police interrogation.' Sherlock said blandly, his eyes flicking back to the screen of his computer.

'Is he joking?' John asked Ruby in a flat voice.

'Nope. I knocked that one out.' Ruby said while pointing the baseball bat at Jackie's collapsed figure.

'You were here when it happened? Are you alright?' John asked. Ruby observed John for a moment while mulling over the question, it had not been one which Sherlock had thought to ask.

'I'm fine.' She said with a little shrug. 'Are you aware you've a hand in your fridge?'

'Oh God, you didn't look in the _fridge_.' John muttered exasperatedly while taking the groceries from Ruby. 'Sorry about that and if I could ask you one, tiny little favour: _don't_ look in the microwave.' He warned before shuffling into the kitchen.

'Do you want some help unpacking those?' Ruby asked, suddenly dying to see what Sherlock had concealed in his microwave.

'No need, thank you. You're our guest; I'll make you some tea; or coffee if you like... I presume Lestrade is on his way? Or has he already been and gone?' John called from the kitchen. Ruby's eyes widened, shocked that she'd put off informing her boss of this evening's events. Twice. She glanced over and frowned as Sherlock's knowing gaze bored into her, his power slightly reduced due to the comic nature of his black eye.

'What?' She asked a little roughly.

'Interesting.' Was all he said before turning back to his laptop. Just as she was about to dial Lestrade's number, her attention was once again deflected, this time by a high pitched scream and the shattering of china coming from the entrance to 221b. Ruby turned around so quickly, she gave herself a crick in her neck but quickly found no reason to panic. All there was to see was the figure of an elderly lady on her hands and knees doing her best to pick up the pieces of a broken mug, the contents of which were slowly edging towards the unconscious foot of Tommy.

'No need for hysterics, Mrs Hudson.' Sherlock drawled. He made no move to rise from his chair and help the mysterious woman.

'Here, let me.' Ruby said kindly, pocketing her phone and dropping to her hands and knees too.

'Oh, thank you dear, you needn't worry. I'm just being silly is all.' Mrs Hudson said with a flustered wave of her hands as she retreated from the mess, her eyes flicking back and forth between the two unconscious men. John suddenly burst from the kitchen, his eyes roving around the chamber as he waved a spatula madly at the company in the sitting room. He quickly dropped the utensil when he realised Mrs Hudson wasn't in any immediate danger.

'Oh thank God. I thought… for a moment there, I thought –'

'Honestly John, I'm_ fine_.' Mrs Hudson insisted, allowing John to help her back to her feet. 'And Sherlock? What did you do to these poor men?' She asked in a strict, motherly voice. If it hadn't been for learning her last name, Ruby would have been sure this woman was Sherlock's mother.

'They wanted to kill me. I didn't let them.' Sherlock said monotonously.

'Well, that wasn't very nice of them.' Mrs Hudson declared; frowning at the two men cuffed unceremoniously to immovable domestic objects. Ruby rose and went on a quest to find the bin in Sherlock's ridiculous kitchen to dump the remains of the china tea cup. She returned triumphantly to see Mrs Hudson hovering over Sherlock's shoulder, a look of dissatisfaction gracing her brow. The frown gave way to a smile after Ruby returned to the room. 'Sherlock, aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?' She asked, giving him a little dig with her elbow.

'She's not my friend.' Sherlock said rudely, his gaze still rooted to the screen of his laptop.

'Detective Ruby Smith.' Ruby said with a smile.

'I'm sorry he's in such a mood, disgraceful at hosting any guests so he is.' Mrs Hudson muttered while shaking her head in disapproval at Sherlock. 'And did I hear you correctly when you said detective? I'd have thought you were a little on the young side…' Ruby smiled before flashing her badge. 'Oh, it seems you are! Well then, I'm Mrs Hudson and these here are my boys. I'm their landlady.' She added upon seeing Ruby's look of strained confusion.

'Oh right. Landlady.' Ruby muttered, trying to remember hearing of someone _not_ evicting their tenants after they'd vandalised the flat with spray paint and bullets.

'Would you like a cup of tea dear? I was just about to make a fresh one after so carelessly dropping mine from fright.' She said with a sweet smile, stepping over the legs of an unconscious Tommy and making her way to the kitchen.

'Yeah. Tea would be great.' Ruby said, staring after the landlady with a bemused expression.

'And some for me too Mrs Hudson, that would be lovely.' John called.

'I'm not your housekeeper dear!' She said with a warning glance in John's direction. 'But maybe I'll make an exception seeing as you've a guest around.' She bustled into the kitchen without another word.

'Nice landlady.' Ruby murmured, provoking a grin from John.

'Yes… she's as tough as old boots and I don't say that lightly. Dear Mrs Hudson has been putting up with Sherlock long before I met him.' He said with a gentle sigh.

'Oi, Sherlock! What the bloody hell have you done with my kitchen?' She yelled from inside the secret laboratory. Ruby caught a quick smile flashing across Sherlock's face who of course, deemed the question unsuitable for answering. 'Sherlock Holmes, this is a place for preparing meals, _not _for conducting your experiments! Look at the mess you've made!' Her exasperated voice floated through the gap of the door but went unnoticed by the two men in the living room. John was now sitting in the armchair Ruby had previously occupied flicking through a newspaper and Sherlock was tapping furiously at his keyboard. She decided once and for all to cast off any further procrastination and dial Lestrade's number. She couldn't contain a grimace when he picked up after the second ring.

'Hi Lestrade? Yeah it's Smith. Sorry for ringing so late, but you're not going to believe what I'm about to tell you…'

* * *

**Reviews are like ice-cream. They make me happy!**


	7. Chapter 7

**You guys, your reviews, follows and favourites make me snort with glee. Attractive, I know. Happy new chapter day!**

* * *

**An Interesting Lie**

It was early, far too early for the ordinary punters of England to be up and about. The zombies interacting with the machines around the gymnasium were no exception, wiping sleep from their eyes and stifling huge yawns with clumsy hands. The only two people brushing off this tired state belonged to a man and a woman walking side by side on treadmills. The man had a blue and white bandana holding back the long, flyaway coils of his afro which swayed in time to his step, his eyes glancing at the girl walking beside him, her red hair knotted in a plait. Ruby increased the speed of her treadmill from a fast walk to a steady jog and as her feet pounded against the rotating belt, she found her mind dwindling on the bizarre events of the previous night.

'So Red; are you going to tell me what happened or will I have to wait and hear it from Anderson first?' The man asked, drawing the girl from her thoughts.

'Sorry Jahmene, I'm still trying to accept what happened. Yesterday was one of the strangest days of my life.'

'You're keeping something from me.' Jahmene said knowingly as he matched his speed to hers, his chiselled physique capturing the attention of a young girl in her twenties on a rowing machine. Ruby wasn't surprised when she finished her routine early and took the free treadmill on Jahmene's left.

'Oh yeah? How can you tell?' She asked a little breathlessly, trying to keep her voice calm, even, free from anything which might attract suspicion.

'I always know when you're not telling the full truth. I know your tell.' Jahmene's breathing had barely changed such was the might of his aerobic fitness. Ruby continued to run for another minute in silence, her thoughts blurring as her speed increased. Should she tell Jahmene what she'd done? It wasn't a question of trust which stopped her; Jahmene was loyal. She didn't want to earn his disappointment.

'I'll tell you what happened first.' She said decidedly.

'And then you'll tell me what's really bothering you?'

'Sure.'

Between breaths, she recounted yesterday's crime scene, Sherlock finding the child hidden in the very room they'd been standing in and of little Benicio's disappearance from the hospital. Jahmene remained quiet throughout her story, a small crease between his eyebrows letting her know she commanded his full attention. She quickly danced over the events which had happened in 221b before increasing her speed once again, her attention focused on her pounding feet instead of her story.

She left the treadmill after her thirty minutes, the anxiety gnawing at her intestines producing a tougher run than normal. With flushed cheeks, she approached the weight section which was always neglected at this early hour. Jahmene pouted at the lack of men flexing their vanity muscles but his lips hardened into a thin line when he noticed Ruby's glum expression. She usually celebrated the absence of men massaging their egos, their gazes flicking over to see if she was watching their workout. This was a thing Ruby never failed to loathe and she claimed the lack of these men made the best possible start to her day.

'Red… what did you do yesterday?' Jahmene asked quietly, knowing he wasn't going to like the answer. Ruby stared blankly at her reflection, her glazed eyes watching her sweating body but failing to take in her flushed appearance so busy was her search for words, the _right_ words, to tell Jahmene what she'd done. Her eyes suddenly regained their sharpness and they used the mirror to make sure their conversation couldn't be overheard. She moved forwards and picked up some weights and as she began to lift them, an explanation fell from her lips.

'I withheld evidence on the crime scene yesterday, showed it to that consulting detective; Sherlock Holmes and when things went belly-up, I looked straight in the eye of my boss and lied to his face.' She said in a quiet, monotonous voice. Jahmene did well to mask his horrified surprise, hiding his face from view as he pretended to be inspecting the assortment of weights in front of him.

'Why?' He eventually asked; his chosen dumbbells hanging limply from his hands, three kilos too light. He couldn't understand why Red would do something so outrageous, so _stupid_ after only beginning at homicide. Ruby watched her reflection carefully, making sure to avoid Jahmene's burning stare as she began to lift her weights.

'It seemed a preferable option than telling Lestrade his detective skills were so poor, I felt I would be putting the case in jeopardy if I gave him the evidence I found.' She replied in that same deadpan voice, switching weight technique after fifty reps. Jahmene swallowed slowly before lifting his weights, his attention so very far from the number of times the dumbbells touched his biceps. He didn't turn his head to stare at his best friend; he remained rooted to the spot, trying to figure out what possible incident had made Red lose such a remarkable amount of faith in her boss.

'Does Sherlock know about your reasons for coming to him with the evidence?' Jahmene eventually asked.

'He deduced it.' Ruby replied, replacing the weights before picking up a medicine ball. Jahmene also returned his weights and as Ruby lowered herself to the ground, he placed her feet on his thighs to hold her in the right position. She still wouldn't look at him as she passed the medicine ball over her midriff, the muscles jumping in her arms with each movement. Any pride Jahmene felt at Red's progress with putting on the muscle she'd lost for her stripper gig was marred by the extraordinary nature of her confession. He'd been so eager to help her regain the physically empowered state she'd once commanded. To help her punches to sting, for her kicks to have the power to wind an opponent, for the ability to defend herself from anything the criminal world might throw at her. Now he couldn't care less about the confident manner in which she was utilising the medicine ball, his thoughts were bent on their conversation.

'Are you worried about what he'll do with this information?' Jahmene asked.

'He keeps a great many secrets Jahmene. Whether he'll keep mine or utilise it for his ulterior motives is beyond me.' To her amazement, Jahmene smiled and pulled her to her feet. 'What?' She asked, completely bewildered as he plucked the medicine ball from her fingers.

'You've nothing to worry about Red. Sherlock Holmes, he's a bit weird but he backed your lie with nothing to gain and everything to lose.'

'And this means he won't blackmail me?' She asked sarcastically.

'It's not his style. He's a curious man Mr Holmes and I've seen him do some weird things in my time at the morgue. But in terms of you remaining in homicide, you've nothing to worry about. You owe him a favour. Many of the police officers in South London Metropolitan do. All he wants will be for you to twist the rules, but always for a break in a case, never for personal gain. Once he asks for his favour and you grant it, that's it. You'll be even.'

'What if he asks me to bend rules which I cannot allow myself to twist?' Ruby muttered.

'Then you have a choice to make. Come clean about what you did, undermining any power Sherlock has over you which leaves you open to the wrath of your superiors. Or… you twist the rules.' Jahmene said bluntly. 'Your boss is an idiot. Fine. Not exactly the first time that's happened. In future, deal with it calmly and go about everything else you do as a detective by the book.' Ruby chewed the side of her thumb, trying to erase the enjoyment she'd extracted from following Sherlock Holmes in his freelance steps. 'Don't attract unwanted suspicion to yourself Red.' Jahmene said warningly. Why did he always have to give such righteous, moral advice? Be a good girl, don't rock the boat; stay within the boundaries… Before she met Sherlock that might have been possible, but now she'd had a taste for bending rules in order to find the quickest path to justice and she found herself wondering if she _wanted_ to stay away from it. 'Now, can we please get some breakfast and forget all this doom and gloom? I'm starving.'

* * *

John Watson was tired. _Very_ tired. Sherlock had kept him up past two in the morning with his incessant violin playing and all he wanted now was to get out of the house and grab a nice, warm cup of coffee. Something he couldn't make at 221b seeing as Sherlock had broken the kettle while testing a hypothesis in one of his many experiments. He ignored his flatmate who was intensely reading a book by the empty fireplace; threw on a jacket and headed out the door. Two minutes later he was in the café across the road, settling down in a window seat and staring hungrily at the menu. He might get some breakfast with his coffee, the last time he'd seen the frying pan at home, it'd been propping Sherlock's bedroom door open and God only knows what the madman had used it for.

'Alright love? What would you like?' Asked a breathless waitress; June, if John remembered correctly.

'Oh, um, just a cup of coffee and a full English please.' John said with a quick smile before handing the menu back.

'No problem…' June replied while folding the menu beneath her arm. 'Hey. You're the one rooming with Sherlock Holmes; right?' She tried to ask the question casually but failed.

'Yes, I'm his flatmate. His _friend_.' John quickly added; always ready to defend his sexual orientation.

'Oh I know that seeing as he was in here just last night with a woman. Never thought I'd see the day.' The waitress said in a gossipy tone.

'Sorry, a _woman_?' John asked incredulously, beginning to become more worried with each passing second. There was only one woman Sherlock had ever taken an interest in and she was _not _someone John would be pleased to see again.

'Ooooh yes. They came in around eight and headed out around eight-forty five.' June gushed happily. 'Although mind you, he did ignore her for the first fifteen minutes they were in here.' She added thoughtfully.

'And, um, this woman. You er, don't remember what she looked like by any chance, do you?' John asked, doing his best to keep his voice light and curious.

'Of course I remember, it's not every day a girl comes in with violently red hair down to here is it?' She said while tapping her waist. John's tension was expelled in a long sigh and he relaxed in his chair. It wasn't Irene Adler who had been here; it seemed Ruby Smith had kept Sherlock company in this café. But why the young detective would willingly put up with his flatmate's antics and the reasons behind Sherlock failing to tell him of such a meeting ignited John's curiosity.

'So, you said they were here for forty five minutes?' John asked, beginning to take a keener interest in this little gossiping session.

'They sure were. Now, I didn't happen to catch any of their conversation but when they did speak, it was very intense, Mr Holmes kept staring at her.'

'That's not unusual; he tends to do that when he's trying to figure someone out.' John said with a slight shrug.

'Mr Holmes kept checking your house across the way every minute or so, it was like he was expecting something. And then the girl suddenly threw some money on the table and stormed out of the place and he ran after her. She gave me ten pounds too much but had already disappeared by the time I went to call her back. Biggest tip I've ever made while working here…' June finished. She gave John a big smile before returning behind the counter to make his breakfast, leaving the war-veteran some very interesting information to mull over.

Thirty minutes later, John returned to 221b in far higher spirits than he'd left. He'd even forgiven Sherlock for keeping him up past two in the morning, the memory of that fantastic English breakfast still fresh in his mind as he walked into their living room. Sherlock was still perched on his armchair, his electric blue dressing gown flowing around his light pyjamas, his bare feet gripping the green leather of the couch. The only sign of any movement since John had left was the forty or so pages resting on the left hand side of the book, proof of Sherlock reading it instead of staring blankly at its pages. His black eye was worse than ever, the dark shade highlighted by Sherlock's naturally pale complexion, improving John's mood even more.

'Morning.' John said cheerfully.

'You're in a good mood.' Sherlock commented much to John's surprise. He'd been expecting his flatmate to ignore him as was to be expected when he was reading a book.

'Yes well, no thanks to you.' John picked up one of the newspapers scattered around the room before taking the armchair opposite his eccentric companion. 'Any news about the two men who tried to kill you yesterday?'

'Still in custody. They're not talking.'

'I'm shocked.' John turned a page. 'And what about this Leo person?'

'Lestrade is taking a sinfully long time to procure a search warrant for his premises.'

'Can't he just do a random drug's bust like he did here?' John asked.

'Not enough volunteers.' Sherlock said blandly, earning a chuckle from his roommate. 'So until then, I'm to sit tight and keep my nose clean like a good boy while the police squander an ideal opportunity to take him by surprise.' He glared at his book, his gaze so sharp John wouldn't have been surprised if it burned holes through the pages.

'I heard something interesting over at the café this morning.' John said, turning a page of his newspaper but not reading any of the headlines. 'June said she saw you having dinner with a woman last night.' John's smile widened when Sherlock's gaze flicked away from what he was reading, signalling his attention was no longer on the book in his hands. 'Yes, apparently a young lady with brilliant red hair down to her waist was your companion. Now, where have I seen someone before who matches that description?' John mused, watching Sherlock carefully. 'Well, the only person who comes to mind is a certain detective we recently made acquaintance with. But that _couldn't_ have been the woman you were having dinner with…' John allowed his voice to trail off, enjoying the rare control he possessed over their conversation. 'It couldn't have been detective Smith because when you returned to 221b and realised there was an intruder in the house; you called the police, reaching the person on-call in Homicide who you claimed to be Ruby Smith. She made a short cab trip over from St Bart's where she'd been keeping an eye on Benicio and together, the two of you went upstairs to see what the commotion was about. Afterwards, Ruby made the call to her superior. At least, that's the story Ruby spun which you ratified when Lestrade started asking questions.'

'What's your point, John?'

'Why would you hide going to dinner with Detective Smith?'

'We didn't have dinner.' Sherlock said bluntly.

'Uh, according to June. You did.'

'No. Having dinner constitutes the illusion of two people eating a meal simply to spend time in each-others company. Seeing as I didn't eat and certainly wasn't there to experience Ms Smith's _scintillating_ company, your premise is rendered false.'

'But you admit that you were in the café with her? June said you were _waiting_ for something.'

'Well, it would have been a very poor use of my time to sit in this armchair, waiting for two murderers to come and kill me at their leisure. No, I had to take them by surprise.' Sherlock said dismissively.

'Sherlock, you _lied_ to Lestrade! You said you phoned London Homicide which directed you to Ruby Smith.'

'Your point being?'

'She was obviously with you before that! What the hell are you not telling me Sherlock?' John eventually blustered. Sherlock snapped his book shut before placing it delicately in its place on the bookshelf. Another of Sherlock's quirks which John would never understand was the detective's ability to live in absolute chaos but his bookcase had to be in perfect, meticulous order.

'Ms Smith doesn't trust Lestrade.' Sherlock said quietly, his fingers running along the spines of countless books.

'_What_?' That hadn't been the answer John was expecting.

'She doesn't think he's very good at his job, a point of view which we both share.' His hands stopped on a particular hardback which he withdrew from the shelves. 'So she gave me a slight clue when we were at the crime scene yesterday and I met her at St Bart's where my premise was proven to be correct. She had been withholding evidence.'

'_Withholding_ evidence? She could get fired for that!'

'I know; that's what made it so interesting. Imagine my surprise when she handed over a scrap of yellow paper with our dear 221b address scrawled in green crayon across it?'

'221b? How the hell did Benicio know of our address?' John asked, completely bewildered.

'The killer said it aloud; it's the only way the child could have heard it meaning he was sending someone to take care of me before I figured out who the killer was. They should have known better than to underestimate _me_.' He said with a smug smile.

'So you _knew_ someone would be making their way to 221b Bakerstreet?'

'Exactly John; hence watching our house from the café across the street with Ruby who had provided me with that crucial clue.' Sherlock concluded before he flung himself back into his armchair. John watched his friend carefully for a moment, trying to accept this bizarre explanation.

'Problem?' Sherlock asked when he caught his friend observing him.

'Why did you support detective Smith's lie?' John asked quietly.

'What concern is it of yours, John?'

'Sherlock –'

'Fine, seeing as you're not going to let this drop. I supported detective Smith because now she owes me. And I cannot stress the importance of being able to call on a member of the police to carry out quirky favours in times of crisis.' John looked away from his friend, hoping he wouldn't be around to see what awful thing Sherlock would ask Ruby to carry out.

'So… now what?' John eventually asked.

'Now? Now we wait.' Sherlock said with a heavy sigh.

'Well, I'm going out.'

'Out? _Where_? You've only just come back.'

'You're on the verge of boredom and I don't want to be here when you start shooting the wall or yelling profanities at Mrs Hudson.' John said while hurriedly getting to his feet.

'What's wrong with shooting the wall?' Sherlock asked sulkily, sliding further down in his chair.

'What's – What's _wrong_ with it?' John asked, staring at his flatmate in horror. 'Sherlock, you can't take out your frustration on inanimate objects!'

'Shall I take it out on live ones then?'

'Leave Mrs Hudson be.' John said warningly, his orderly stare lost on the detective with closed eyes. 'Just, watch some telly or something… something _normal_. Not everything you do has to be extraordinary.' He muttered; hurrying out of the room before his roommate made some comment which would catch his attention and keep him there.

* * *

**Top tip! Reviews make me as focused on my writing as Sherlock is when he's on a case! (Alright, you got me. That's a little bit of an exaggeration...) **


	8. Chapter 8

**Head-Hunting**

There was nothing like starting a morning with a cup of steaming coffee coupled with a headless corpse. Ruby stared at the male body in front of her, lying on its back minus its head and thumbs on the damp bank of the Thames. He was younger than the previous two victims and seemed to have committed a bigger betrayal due to the loss of his head. The only other unusual entity apart from the headless body was the presence of Ruby's best friend and the scuba equipment lying jumbled at their feet. Much to Donovan's pleasure, Jahmene was already in the process of pulling on his wetsuit, his muscles straining against the stubborn fabric, producing a vacant stare from the female sergeant. Ruby zipped him up before offering him some of her coffee, her fingers thick and clumsy in her neoprene gloves.

'Thanks Red.' Jahmene said with a dazzling smile. Before Ruby could make some witty retort, Lestrade, Donovan, Anderson, John and Sherlock had joined them.

'_You_ know how to scuba dive?' Anderson scoffed, eyeing the pair with smarmy disbelief.

'Not everyone's as petrified of water as you are Anderson.' Sherlock retorted, enjoying the scowl etched onto the forensic scientist's face.

'Holmes, I'm not _afraid_ of water, I am of the opinion that diving is not suited to a man of my rank.'

'Just as well Red and I got our two star qualification together, I wouldn't have you as a dive buddy for all the coffee in Brazil. And I love me some Brazilian coffee.' Jahmene insulting someone while sporting a toothy grin was a rare thing indeed. Ruby returned his smile, secretly thankful that he hadn't included her massive crush on him when they'd been learning to dive. He'd bluntly dashed her hopes by coming out of the closet.

'Now Sherlock, are you sure the head's in the river? I don't want these two getting wet for nothing.' Lestrade said in condescending manner.

'Of _course_ the head's in the river! There are small drops of blood leading towards the water and seeing as the victim is completely dry, that symbolises the transfer of the head _into_ the water.' Sherlock argued. 'The head will have initially sunk, only after a few days of decomposition will it resurface again due to the gases released, making it positively buoyant. However when it does become buoyant we will never see it again due to the tide washing it out to sea! This brings me back to my question of why there are only two divers on site this morning when there should be at least _four_.'

'They're either sick or abroad, we're doing the best we can seeing as you're not volunteering to get in the Thames.' Lestrade grumbled.

'Going diving without being correctly trained is the equivalent of going skydiving without a parachute. A big risk of death, understand?' Sherlock said loudly.

'Alright, alright! Now you two, you know what you're doing?' Lestrade asked, uncertain of what exact questions he should be asking of the dive team. It was highly unorthodox for a police officer to team up with a forensics member and trawl the Thames for a head but the only other members of the forensics team who had any experience in diving were as Lestrade had pointed out; unavailable. Ruby didn't particularly mind, diving in the Thames without express permission from the police was deemed illegal. She couldn't wait to see all of the strange things hiding beneath its surface. Ignoring Lestrade's question, Ruby began her buddy check with Jahmene while at the same time making calculations with concerns to how long their dive should last so they wouldn't contract the bends – or run out of air.

'The killer will have wanted the head to sink so concentrate on the bed of the Thames.' Sherlock muttered more to himself than to the two divers as they piled all of their gear into the boat before clambering in themselves. As the boat officer revved the engine, Ruby lounged carelessly against the side of the boat, her attention drawn to the cold water of the Thames lapping against the side of their vehicle.

'See you in forty minutes or so.' Ruby said with a slight wave of her hand, her body's movements harder to control when sheathed in neoprene.

'Excited?' Jahmene yelled over the clamour of the tiny engine.

'Yeah. Let's go head-hunting!' Ruby said with unscreened glee. It was the first time she'd felt careless euphoria since the unsettling events starring Jackie and Tommy in 221b over a week ago. But her worry had been for nothing, Lestrade didn't suspect a thing about that scrap of paper and Sherlock had kept his mouth shut.

As the boat slowed in the middle of the Thames, Ruby and Jahmene concentrated on organising their complicated gear, eventually shouldering their heavy packs, pulling on their fins and putting their masks in place. At this tide and hour, visibility would be especially clear, making the sport of head-hunting a little easier. Sitting on the edge of the boat with her back facing the water, Ruby gave Jahmene and the boat officer the "OK" signal before allowing the weight of her tank to drag her backwards, entering the water in a smooth roll. Jahmene soon followed her and after allowing the air to escape from their BCD's, the world of the mammals disappeared from view and was replaced with the kingdom of reptiles and fish. An unearthly silence pressed against Ruby's ears, only broken by the hissing of bubbles streaming from her regulator. She glanced over at Jahmene who indicated their direction of travel and after descending to an optimum depth, they allowed some air into their BCD's, neutralising their buoyancy, their eyes searching for any signs of a severed head.

As they gently propelled themselves through these silent waters peppered with plastic bottles, beer cans and the odd couch, Ruby found herself looking around at the endless space stretching out around them. She could see no sign of either bank, just dark water spreading around them and she had to take a few deep breaths to put this lingering thought to bed. After equalising her ears and successfully clearing her mask, Ruby began to relax and enjoy the dive, even if it was in search of someone's missing cranium. Curious objects shivered in the current from the bed of the Thames, old plastic bags caught on rusted metal poles waved at them as they passed by, signalling the arrival of an old oil storage container which had been empty for years, all sorts of strange little seaweeds clinging to its plastic exterior. But as the dive progressed, Ruby began to realise the impossibility of the task in hand, the Thames was so wide and there were only two of them. A needle in a haystack couldn't compare with the enormity of their quest.

Twenty-five more minutes passed by and Ruby checked her pressure gauge which had fallen below 100 bar. She showed this to Jahmene who gave her the "OK" sign before signalling another ten minutes before they resurfaced. As they continued their search, they stumbled across a graveyard of old shopping trolleys. Ruby paused while overlooking this odd phenomenon and realised that at low tide, it would be very close to the left bank, the one where the body was. She signalled to Jahmene that she was going in for a closer look and together the two of them swum around twenty or so shopping trolleys in different stages of decay. One was so rusted, Ruby was afraid that one touch would cause the entire frame to disintegrate. After a few minutes of swimming through this phenomenon, Jahmene gave her the thumbs up, signalling that their dive was over and they should return to the surface, defeated. Ruby was just about to return this signal when something from the corner of her eye grabbed her attention. She quickly gave Jahmene the "something wrong" signal before pointing downwards. The two checked their gauges which were dangerously bordering the 50 bar region, their air being used up more quickly thanks to their increased pressure from diving deeper.

Ruby ignored all protocol any diving instructor had ever taught her and dived deeper, equalising her ears as she unearthed a plastic bag beneath one of the trolleys. She peeked inside and was astonished to find a face glaring back at her. Her heart rate increased rapidly and she started breathing harder, her hands visibly shaking as she held the corner of the bag. Water started flooding into her mask and she spent the next thirty seconds clearing it, reminding her brain that yes her vision was clouded by water but that didn't mean she should hold her breath, the regulator was in her mouth, she could still breathe. Her mask finally cleared and she glanced down into the plastic bag again, her breathing beginning to return to a normal rate.

Then suddenly; nothing.

She dragged at her regulator but no cold, dry air rushed into her lungs. Still holding onto the strap of the plastic bag, as calmly as she could, she gave Jahmene the out of air signal. She felt more than saw Jahmene's hand firmly grab her strap as he yanked her closer, ripping his regulator from his mouth and shoving it unceremoniously into Ruby's. He counted her breaths for her on two fingers before wrenching the regulator away and taking a few drags himself. He continued to swap his regulator between their mouths as they slowly finned their way to the ceiling of water some twenty metres above. After five minutes of this, their heads broke the surface, allowing them to inflate their BCD's. Ruby lay back and allowed herself to recover for a minute, taking deep gulps from the smoky London air. Jahmene gave the boat officer the "OK" signal before the two started finning in that direction. The boat officer dragged them on-board, his eyes widening when he saw the lack of air in both of their tanks.

'What – the hell – were – you thinking?' Jahmene gasped, his body slumped against the side of the boat. Ruby didn't respond, the memory of not being able to breathe suffocating any urge to speak. She slowly sat up, wrenched her mask from her face and peered into the bag as the boat began to make its way back to the shore. She then passed the bag over to Jahmene whose face frowned at its contents. Neither said anything else until the boat was docked and they were able to walk unsteadily towards their colleagues.

'So, how did it go then?' Lestrade asked as he took in the cloud of rage storming around Jahmene's brow and the pale pallor of his youngest detective. Ruby ripped back her hood before upending her bag and dumping the head beside its former body where it landed with a nasty _squelch_. Lestrade and Donovan leapt back in horror while Sherlock looked at the head with unparalleled interest.

'We found the head.' Jahmene said coldly, refusing to look at his best friend. Ruby would have to make up for her reckless behaviour later but for now, there was only one thing on her mind.

'Oi, Smith! Where are you going?' Lestrade yelled after her retreating figure. Ruby didn't respond, disappearing behind the mountain of cement where the boat was docked before vomiting up her guts in privacy. Completely exhausted, she leant against the wall, trying to summon the energy to return to the corpse but finding her feet unwilling to move. She was just building up the necessary mental strength to move her feet when Sherlock Holmes drifted around the corner.

'I didn't think body parts made you throw up.' He said, tossing the remark casually in Ruby's direction.

'Nope, almost dying on the other hand…' Ruby muttered, temporarily giving up on the process of moving her tired and sore body.

'Your fault, of course.' Sherlock muttered; ignoring the sharp glare Ruby threw at him.

'If I hadn't taken that chance, we wouldn't have a head to work with!' Ruby tried to yell but it came out as a raspy croak instead.

'Please, don't over-exert yourself on my account, it's pathetic.' He said with a pitying look. Sherlock's pompous manner was beginning to grate against Ruby's nerves. She visualised charging at him and dragging him into the water, his outrage at her ruining his favourite coat plastered over his face… 'Stop giving me that look.' Sherlock said, shrewdly observing her.

'What look?'

'The "I'm-going-to-throw-you-into-the-water-because-you 're-annoying-me" look.' Sherlock made a show of pulling his leather gloves on. 'Now, there's a little favour I need to ask of you.' Ruby slumped slightly against the wall. Here it was, the request which she would have to grant and at what excellent timing too! 'As I'm sure you're aware, you and I crafted a little lie which might get you in hot water with your superior if he ever found out.' Sherlock began. 'So here's what I need you to do.' Ruby swallowed painfully, not looking forward to his request. 'I need you to take that piece of paper which is in your cigar case and burn it. That way all traces of the lie will be removed.' Ruby stared dumbly at Sherlock Holmes, in complete disbelief of what he'd just asked of her.

'But… why?' Ruby couldn't help asking.

'Why? _Why_? Because if that sheet of paper was ever to be found and questions were to be asked of you, that would mean trouble for you, and therefore me.'

'How would you be affected?' Ruby asked. Sherlock sighed, his face frowning due to his impatience at Ruby's sluggish cognitive processes.

'You weren't completely wrong about my lack of friends in the police. And Lestrade isn't getting any younger, despite what his stupendous amount of cologne might imply, I wouldn't be surprised if we could smell it from here.' He said while sniffing the air.

'What, I burn that piece of paper and suddenly we're even?'

'You don't believe me.'

'Would you blame me for rejecting such a cock and bull story?'

'Probably not. Fine, in order for this transaction to be conducted in a manner which you deem to have a sense of finality, I need to gain something from these proceedings, something personal.' He frowned. 'Now, what could you possibly have to offer me which might pique my interest?' He mused, looking her drenched figure up and down thoughtfully. The breeze was cruel today and though she was doing her best to hide it, Ruby was starting to shiver. 'Oh… yes. I think that will do quite nicely.' He said with a nod.

'What will?' Ruby asked suspiciously, her teeth on the verge of chattering.

'You smoke one cigarette a week on Friday evenings at exactly 21:33 as you so kindly demonstrated last week after our guests Tommy and Jackie passed out. Instead of smoking that cigarette at your own place of residence, I would be most satisfied if you would smoke it at mine.'

'Second-hand smoke. That's what you're exchanging for an opportunity to blackmail me?' Ruby asked incredulously.

'What is having one detective owing me a favour, compared with a detective who not only appreciates my classy style but is willing to help with my conduction of future cases?' Sherlock asked with a smirk. 'Nothing is what. See you next Friday at 21:33. Don't be late.' And with that, he turned on his heel and disappeared around the corner, his coat tails billowing behind him.

* * *

**Posting again, two days in a row. Told you reviews made me go into a writing frenzy!**


	9. Chapter 9

**An Unforgettable Chase**

'Brief in ten minutes! Everyone's to attend!' Lestrade shouted from the door of his office. Ruby frowned at her superior over the screen of her computer which currently held the mug-shot of Leo Shannon. They'd already had a brief a little over an hour ago discussing the dead end which Benicio's older sister Sierra, the existence of which Sherlock had kept a secret, had turned out to be. What development could they have possibly made to warrant another terrible and boring discussion? Sergeant Donovan repeated the order over the now quieter buzz of the office before her gaze fell on Ruby, where she awkwardly smiled across the room. Ruby gave a slight smile in return before returning her attention to her monitor; she'd been very aloof with the sergeant ever since her homophobic comment at her first crime scene.

'Alright Smith?' Donovan asked in a voice Ruby could tell was trying to sound kind, sincere. Not bossy.

'Sure Sarge, apart from nearly drowning myself, I'd say I'm pretty good.' Ruby replied, earning a grin from her superior. She felt quite underdressed compared to the sergeant's formal outfit, wearing a black tank top beneath an open white shirt with her usual choice of colourful braces strapped over her shoulders and clipping into the waistband of dark, combat trousers. She could feel Donovan's disapproval of wearing trainers to work instead of some form of shoe with a heel to emphasise her femininity radiating from her frowning stance. But in her defence, it _was_ casual Friday so Ruby didn't have much care for wearing anything fancy.

'You wanna grab a coffee before Lestrade starts bawling instructions down our ears again?' Donovan asked, the offer taking Ruby by surprise. She'd been convinced she was going to receive a lecture concerning her choice in clothes.

'Yeah, sure.' Ruby said, slightly uncomfortable with the colloquial dimension Donovan's speech had adopted. The two left the buzzing atmosphere of homicide behind and were soon clasping steaming cups of coffee in the almost deserted canteen. Ruby remained quiet as she took sips of the average brew, waiting for Donovan to speak first.

'Look, Smith. I know you're a bit wary of me after that blunder I made when referring to the freak and his mate being… _gay_. I didn't realise Jahmene and you were really good mates –' Ruby's gaze must have held something more stinging than anger to have cut Donovan off mid-sentence. '…I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I was bang out of order.' Donovan pursed her lips slightly when she realised reconciliation wasn't going to be that simple, so she adopted a different tact.

'…You know; when I made detective, I was in narcotics and the lieutenant there was also a woman, Lieutenant Griers. I dunno if you've heard of her?'

'I know _of_ her.' Ruby said coldly.

'Anyways, she was awful to me, a right bitch, talk about a political player… There wasn't a situation she couldn't manipulate to her advantage.' Ruby stared at Donovan keenly, wondering where exactly this meandering conversation was heading. 'Look, all I wanted to say is this: I ain't no Griers; I think it's great you made detective so young. I don't hold any petty grudges like that, you understand?' She said meaningfully.

'Yeah. I appreciate that.' Ruby said with no word of a lie.

'Good, I'm glad I said that now.' She drained the rest of her coffee in one gulp. 'Again, I'm sorry about what I said with regards to homosexuals. This place… sometimes it speaks for you without you realising.' Her gaze flickered around the gloomy canteen. 'Anyway, enough mush. Shall we go back up and have our ears filled with a load of Lestrade nonsense?' She asked with a cheeky grin. Ruby smiled and gave a shrug, not wanting to imply that she thought her boss was an idiot – which she did. The two abandoned the rest of their coffee and headed back to homicide and as they pushed the door to the office open, the smiles were abruptly wiped from their faces. 'Where the _hell_ is everyone?' Donovan snapped, sounding a lot like her usual, bossy self. The two entered the briefing room to find it completely deserted. 'Oh Christ…' Donovan murmured as realisation dawned on her.

'Sarge, what was that brief about?' Ruby demanded, knowing they'd missed something important and should be with the rest of the team.

'Lestrade said something about a search warrant in passing, but he never fully explained! He was waiting for the brief to tell us everything…' Donovan trailed off.

'Search warrant? Donovan, we have to go! _Now_! We can call him to figure out what we missed!' Ruby said sharply, tugging on Donovan's arm and snapping her from her panic.

'Yeah, you're right. We'll call him from my car.' She said with a nod before the two of them ran out of the room, down the stairs and into the car park. Donovan unlocked her car and the two jumped in and drove out of the half-empty lot. 'Lestrade? Yeah, it's Donovan. Where the hell did you and the rest of homicide disappear to?' She called over the hands free device.

'We're going to Leo Shannon's flat; finally got a search warrant after the third body gave this case serial killer status.' Lestrade's crackly voice replied over the speakers.

'Right. Where does he live?' Ruby quickly took down the address as the car sped onwards, Donovan switching on the flashing blue lights of her unmarked car. Lestrade abruptly hung up and Donovan put her boot to the floor, the car weaving in and out of traffic.

'You're a good driver.' Ruby commented in surprise as Donovan manipulated the roads of London with ease.

'You need to be in an office full of men.'

It took fifteen tense and very speedy minutes to arrive at the correct street. As the two got out of the car, they realised the door to Leo's house had already been forced and officers had disappeared inside. Just as Donovan was about to rush out of the car and join the rest of the squad, Ruby laid a hand on her arm, stopping her.

'Smith, what the _hell_ are you playing at?' Donovan yelled but Ruby ignored her.

'The police are coming into your house, where do you run to?' She asked in a strange, monotonous voice.

'What? Smith, let me _go_ –'

'You want to escape but the front door is already out of the question… so if you can, you go upstairs to the roof, no?' Ruby asked with raised eyebrows. 'Look at these houses sarge, this entire street has perfectly flat rooftops.' Donovan struggled for a minute before lividly glaring at the rooftops of the surrounding street. Her flailing limbs abruptly fell limp.

'You think he'd use them to make his get-away?' Donovan asked in a quiet voice.

'There's a fire-escape over there… what do you think?' Donovan looked at Ruby for a long moment before hesitantly nodding.

'Alright, but if this is a dead end, it's all on you. _Understand_?' She spat the last word before wrenching her arm from Ruby's grasp and hurrying out of the car. Ruby immediately followed, finding herself dashing towards the staircase at a sprint. The two hurriedly clambered up the four flights of rusty stairs before stepping onto the flat roof where to their surprise, they found they weren't alone. Peering over the edge of the building was not Leo Shannon but the restless figure of Sherlock Holmes. John Watson was casually sitting on the side of a chimney a few feet away, his legs crossed and his eyes directed to the roof-door of Mr Shannon's house.

'What are you doing here, sergeant?' Sherlock hissed.

'Could ask the same question, _freak_.'

'I'm waiting for a certain Mr Shannon to come bursting through that door because of Lestrade's idiotic plan of chasing him through his own house, hoping he'll catch him by chance. And you are waiting for…?' Sherlock asked; his voice coated in sugar.

'We're doing the same as you.'

'Oh come off it Donovan, we both know you're lack of creativity and imagination would immediately disqualify you from coming up with that plan.' His eyes fell on Ruby who was deliberately avoiding his gaze. 'Oh, _now_ it makes sense.' Sherlock said, dragging out the s on the last word. Ruby continued to ignore him as she crossed the flat roof, sitting on the other side of the brick chimney John was currently occupying, leaving Donovan and Sherlock to glare at one another.

'Hi John.'

'Hello. Nice braces.' He said sincerely, glancing at the black elastic bedecked with yellow smiley emoticons peeking out from her open shirt.

'Inspired by the graffiti in your house.' Her grin was a genuine one. Their attentions were attracted to the now pacing figure of Sherlock Holmes; his hands plunged deeply into the great pockets of his overcoat. 'Is he always this restless?'

'Um… yes. I prefer him when he's excited about a case; he's a nightmare when he's bored. You know this one time he actually –' But Ruby never got to hear the end of John's sentence. With a loud _bang _the door to the roof burst open and out dashed the youthful figure of Leo Shannon, skidding to a halt when he realised there was company on his roof. John and Ruby leapt to their feet while Sherlock and Donovan stopped their bickering and moved to block the fire escape. Leo was wearing grey tracksuit bottoms, trainers, a black leather jacket with a blue jumper tucked beneath it, the hood of which hung comfortably over the dark, well-worn material. His eyes roved madly around the flat roof, looking for an escape as he knew he couldn't return the way he'd come.

'There's nowhere to run Mr Shannon!' Donovan yelled as she flashed her badge in his direction. 'You're under arrest, don't try to resist!' Leo slowly backed away towards the edge of the roof where there was a three storey drop behind him. He glanced at the fall and then back to Donovan, weighing up his options. More footsteps announced the arrival of the rest of the squad with Lestrade leading the charge.

'You're… under… arrest!' Lestrade repeated, his words punctuated by heavy breaths.

'Oh yeah? What for?' Leo shouted back in a lilting voice, his feet now on the very edge of the roof.

'Step _away_ from the roof Mr Shannon. You're under arrest for ordering an attempt on Mr Sherlock Holmes' life.' Lestrade said stiffly, his eyes glancing at the bored detective.

'You're saying I tried to have him killed? _Me_? I've never met this man before, why would I want him dead?' Leo asked, his voice adopting a disbelieving tone as he surveyed the police officers, calculating how outnumbered he was. 12:1. The odds were not in his favour that was for sure. 'What kind of a name is Sherlock anyway? Sounds like your mother really loved you.' He threw the insult casually across the rooftop, earning a slight frown from the consulting detective.

'Mr Shannon! This is your final warning! We will _not _ask you again. Step away from the edge of the roof!'

'Alright _sergeant_, no need to get your knickers in a twist.'

'Lestrade, would you kindly place this man under arrest?' He's clearly delaying so he can achieve some means of escape.' Sherlock said coldly.

'Take it easy Shirley. I'm just a bit warm, mind if I take my coat off first?' Leo didn't wait for an answer; he dumped his leather jacket on the ground and pulled his blue hood up. 'There, much better. Now Inspector, feel free to arrest me!' He said gleefully, offering his wrists in Lestrade's direction. The inspector edged his way uncertainly towards the young ruffian and just as he was getting closer, something extraordinary happened.

Leo turned, took the remaining step separating his feet from solid ground and threw himself from the building in a spectacular swan dive. Ruby was oblivious to the yells of horror and shock, she was too busy watching Leo negotiate the three storey drop with aloof expertise, falling gracefully through the air before connecting with the ground in a forward roll, his momentum from dispelling the excess force in the roll unaffected, allowing him to push himself from the ground like a sprinter and tear away completely unharmed from his dumb-founded audience. _ Some idiot forgot to note on Mr Shannon's criminal record that he's an excellent parkour artist._ This thought registered in the back of Ruby's mind while time began to slow. Well, that's what it felt like as unlike her panicking colleagues; Ruby's thoughts were kicked up a gear, her mind sharpened, deriving the only possible solution to catching the escaping criminal. She glanced up to see Sherlock Holmes watching her and when their eyes met, he gave her a small but definitive nod. He _knew_. She shouldn't have been surprised but nonetheless she was; the man's intellectual capacity was slightly bonkers. She nodded in return and as soon as the decision had been made, she concentrated on throwing her open shirt and braces from her body, having no need for these cumbersome accessories. Completely oblivious to the panic surrounding her and Lestrade's attempts at organising a party to pursue Mr Shannon, Ruby yielded to her instincts and found her feet pounding steadily along the tarmac of the roof, her eyes glued on the disappearing figure of Leo Shannon. As she neared the edge of the roof, she could hear her name being yelled after her with different levels of concern but this was no time to be listening to her superiors. Not now. Nothing mattered but catching up to the blue hoody in the distance. The last thing she remembered before leaving the rooftop was Sherlock Holmes, his lips touched with a smile as he watched her jump from the top of the building, moving slightly to the side so he wouldn't be in her way. This understanding made her grin as she flung herself into open space, feeling her feet willingly leave solid ground for the first time in two years. In mid-air, muscle-memory kicked in and as the irresistible tug of gravity pulled her back to earth, she lazily somersaulted in the air. With a slight _thump _she connected perfectly with the cement, her forward roll identical to the one Leo had used to land safely from the absurdly high fall. As she pushed herself to her feet, the adrenaline kicked in and the chase was on.

Ruby tore after her suspect, her muscles singing from the perfect execution of the jump, in slight shock that her lack of practise hadn't killed her in the fall. Putting faith in her body, Ruby increased her pace, the blue hoody some twenty-five feet ahead, dancing over objects with graceful ease. It was easier to pursue a fellow free-runner in parkour instead of leading the way; the assailant could always steal the moves their suspect had decided to use in order to negotiate a particular obstacle. As Leo utilised an underbar in order to get through a set of rails, so did Ruby, her feet disappearing through the gap first with the rest of her body following, her hands grasping the metal pole out of instinct to stop her whacking her head against the rail. Her flexibility and agility had been improved since her work in "The Flamingo" helping her to keep up with this masterful free-runner in a way her parkour skills two years previously could never have hoped. A gap between the two buildings up ahead was one which Leo crossed with ease, rolling onto the next building's roof without experiencing a scratch. He chanced a glance backwards and was genuinely surprised to see one of the police officers in hot pursuit. He continued running across the flat terrain, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds to see if she could handle the jump. As she neared the edge, she noticed a disused flag pole hanging in a perfectly ideal spot and employing the lache technique, she grabbed onto it with both hands and swung her entire body in a graceful leap over the gap, letting go at the last possible second before landing on the face of the other building, her hands holding onto the edge. Ignoring the yawning chasm beneath her, she used a muscle up, a technique which would have been beyond her had she not been going to the gym religiously these past few weeks, managing to haul herself onto the top of the building. Then she was running again, her prey cursing beneath his breath at the odds of being chased by a police officer knowing parkour. He'd have to outrun her now and that meant taking some risks.

His speed increased and he wasted no time in vaulting over different objects instead of going round them be they oil drums, low walls, railings, using one of his favourite moves; the kong vault, to add extra speed to his clearing of other buildings, throwing himself over the gap and landing hands first, dragging the rest of his body behind him in a feline, elegant movement. As the buildings changed from plain, flat roofed terrain into houses and offices of different storeys, Leo utilised Tic-Tacs, little pushes from his feet which allowed him to use the sides of buildings to gain height and pull himself onto higher ledges. Ruby consistently pursued, her confidence rising with each successful move she undertook. It was like riding a bicycle, the memory was in her very muscles so putting her faith blindly in her body; she was able to keep up with the ridiculous pace set by Leo Shannon. Her eyes remained glued to the blue hoody as she continued to run, her only other thoughts on what a spectacular parkour artist Leo was, it was something he obviously put a lot of time into. But catching him was non-negotiable. He was the only viable lead for finding the person responsible for the murder of Benicio's mother; she had no choice, she had to catch him. He side-flipped over an obstacle, she copied him. He used a precision jump in order to gain access to better running ground, Ruby followed, her entire body employed in using this small jumping technique. He dropped from a height less than his own without a roll; she would use a light drop too. He used cat-balance over a rail in order to get to the next building, she would follow on all fours, the quadrupedal movement forcing her to look at the ground far below. He used the dash vault in order to overcome a certain obstacle; Ruby would relentlessly follow, successfully vaulting the object feet first before landing safely on the other side. She wasn't as elegant as Leo but that wasn't the point. She needed to catch him. And to catch him she had to take some short cuts on style and exchange them for speed.

It was because parkour wasn't competitive which attracted the attention of so many thrill-seekers around the world and had provoked Ruby's interest in the first place. She never thought she'd be needing it in her job as a police officer in order to chase down a subject yet here she was, the air tearing through her lungs, this long run testing her every skill, reflex and of course endurance. Leo Shannon might be a scummy criminal who had tried to assassinate the curious figure of Sherlock Holmes but boy could he _run_.

Ruby chanced a glance down as she vaulted over another gap between two buildings; there were more people on the street below meaning they were heading towards a more populated area; the city centre. Ruby had managed to cut the distance separating her and Leo down to twenty feet. She knew her stamina would keel over long before his would so she had to think of another strategy for catching him. Hoping he would trip and fall wasn't an option, his skills were too well honed, he could run like this for the next hour without stopping. Ruby would have to corner him but doing so by aimlessly chasing him didn't seem like the best of ideas. As the gas exchange in her lungs increased, she knew that whatever she had to do, it would have to be quick, at this intensity; her fitness wouldn't last much longer. Before she had even the threads of a plan, her quarry abruptly came to a halt when a gap which even he couldn't vault presented itself. The jump was out of the question and he paused for a fateful second while gathering his thoughts, making his next move. With Ruby hot on his heels, he made a snap decision and hurriedly lowered himself onto the side of the building, his hands grasping onto the edge. As Ruby skidded to a halt and tried to grab his hands, he let go. With an elegant turn, he fell and landed lightly on the balcony some ten feet beneath him. Ruby wasted no time and followed; her knees jarring slightly from the impact against the hard ground. By the time she'd landed, Leo had already vaulted over the edge of the balcony and dropped onto the one beneath. After repeating this move, Ruby realised with a thrill of horror that Leo had been planning to get down from the rooftops for some time. As he landed on the pavement amongst startled members of the public, he gave her a salute before dashing down an alleyway, elbowing people out of his way.

_He's not getting away. Not now! _

Ruby landed roughly on the pavement and yanking her badge from her belt, she roared at people to move out of her way and thundered after the disappearing form of Leo, his blue hoody bobbing teasingly in the distance. However, Leo was bigger than Ruby and she found it easier to manipulate her way through the crowd than he. Ruby was catching up – and fast. At the next opportunity, he turned left and sprinted down an alleyway, his back dripping with sweat from his combined excursions and the heavy jumper he was wearing. Too late he realised this wasn't an alleyway, but a cul de sac. He continued sprinting towards the end, knowing that the blasted police officer would be following and searched for a way to get up to the rooftops once again. His eyes roved around him, his sweaty hair falling into his eyes which he impatiently brushed to the side. He came to the end of the alley to find nothing but a smooth wall stretching upwards for twenty feet before a window punctuated the wall of cement. He tried using Tic-Tacs to gain him some height to grasp onto this window ledge but as he pushed off from one side of the alleyway, he knew it was pointless. His arms would have to be at least another foot long in order for him to grasp that windowsill.

He turned around, willing to go back further down the alleyway to see if he could force one of the doors and get to the rooftop but he abruptly stopped; his muscles jarring at his sudden halt to his extensive and intense run. His lady friend had caught up with him, her eyes flashing in the darkened alleyway, a pair of silver bracelets just for him hanging from her left hand. She didn't look like any ordinary police officer, her hair was a violent red and she knew parkour for crying out loud! But the badge in her other hand was real. The authority in her voice was real and she was not someone whom he could simply slink by. If he tried using a Tic-Tac to push himself over her, she'd be able to catch him mid-jump and bring him harshly to the ground. He'd seen it happen and it wasn't pretty, the face nearly always smashed into the ground and against these cobbles, he'd be lucky to have any teeth left. She was panting heavily so she wasn't used to such lengthy runs but she had the skills. No-one without skills could have kept up with the great Leo Shannon, parkour extraordinaire for such a chase with only speed and guts. Such a shame she was a pig, what a waste…

'Leo Shannon, I'm arresting you under suspicion of the attempted murder of Sherlock Holmes. You do not have to say anything but anything you will say may be used against you in court.' Ruby rasped; her throat feeling like sandpaper. There wasn't much she wouldn't do for a bottle of ice-cold water right now.

'Fair play.' Leo said, a smile splitting his features despite being caught. And he was caught, he knew it; there was no getting out of this.

'Turn to the wall and place your hands behind your back.' Ruby instructed, pocketing her detective badge.

'Well, if you like it that way, officer.'

'That's_ detective_ to you Mr Shannon.'

'Please, call me Leo.' He said pleasantly as she slapped the cuffs on his wrists, binding his arms behind him. He turned around and slumped slightly against the wall, catching his breath. 'You're a little young to be detective aren't you? I wouldn't say you're any older than me…' His voice trailed off as his gaze traced Ruby's figure. 'Oh, and nice ink by the way.' He added. Ruby glanced at her right shoulder-blade which she realised was exposed by her tank top. She silently cursed leaving behind her shirt on Mr Shannon's rooftop all those houses away. 'It's rare for someone to put actual thought into tattoos these days but that – that's a masterpiece. Who designed it?'

'I did.' Ruby muttered before taking out her phone from her pocket. To her amazement it was completely unharmed. Her muscles were beginning to complain, that level of physical exertion without any warm-up was not the smartest thing Ruby had ever done. Her tank-top was dusty, she'd ripped holes in her trousers around the knee area and she was sure that tomorrow her skin would be peppered with bruises.

'Nice work, _detective_. And seeing as you know my name, I think it's only common courtesy for you to give me yours. You know; seeing as we're being all polite and everything.'

'You can call me detective Smith.'

'Oh what is this, the 40's? What's your Christian name?'

'Will you shut up if I tell you?'

'I might.'

'Fine. Ruby. Ruby Smith.' She wasted no more time and called Lestrade to let him know where she was. In a voice filled with anger and confusion, Lestrade told her to remain there until he arrived with a squad of officers in the next fifteen minutes.

'We're to sit tight like good little kids until daddy comes to slap our wrists?' Leo asked with a pout - yes an actual _pout_ as Ruby put her phone away.

'Problem?' Neither of them said. Ruby whipped around to see who the speaker was. It was none other than Sherlock Holmes, his colour high in his cheeks as he came to a halt behind her, his eyes narrowing at Leo Shannon.

'Ah Shirley; how nice of you to join us!' Leo said in convincingly pleased voice.

'Can't say I return the sentiment.' Sherlock scoffed.

'I'm fine, thanks for asking.' Ruby spat, massaging her shoulders which felt as if the ball and socket joints had been set on fire.

'I'd have asked if you weren't.' Ruby ignored him and slumped against the wall, wishing there was a bench for her to sit on as the ground was _filthy_.

'Charming, isn't he?' Leo said, gifting Ruby with a wink. She was taken aback by this blatant display of friendliness; she'd just placed him under arrest. The usual reaction involved the employment of abusive words not _winks_.

'Lestrade's on his way… where's John?' Ruby asked.

'Running an errand.' Sherlock said while checking his phone, tapping a response to a text which made him raise his eyebrows. He pocketed the device before returning his attention to Leo's cuffed figure. 'Now, I know you don't have any personal vendetta against me Mr Shannon, in fact some of the breakthroughs in my cases have produced opportunities for you, opportunities which you have doubtlessly taken advantage of judging by the grandeur of your current place of residence. The people I have put behind bars left vacuums which you filled, allowing you to rise to a respectable level in the criminal world. So someone from a level higher ordered you to send those charming twins, Tommy and Jackie Braxton, to 221b Bakerstreet in order to "whack" me as one of them so aptly phrased it. They won't talk; they're too stupid, too loyal. But you… you are a man who is always looking out for himself.'

'Wait now; hang on just a second Shirley. Are you trying to tell me you've _no_ idea who the man is that according to you has "ordered" you to be killed?' Leo asked incredulously. Sherlock didn't say anything but his answer was clear. 'Wow… aren't you supposed to be super smart?'

'I thought you said you'd never heard of me.' Sherlock said shrewdly.

'Of _course_ I've heard of you! You're Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective with a brain the size of a small country. Big deal.'

'You passed down orders from a superior. I want to know who.'

'I honestly don't give a flying fiddler's fornication what you want to know Shirley. I ain't talking!' Leo said, his beautiful eyes taking on a steely quality.

'I shouldn't expect anything less from a moron.' Sherlock hissed; his attention attracted to the far end of the alleyway where a police car had just pulled up. 'Ah excellent, Lestrade has just arrived. Let's see if you'll feel chattier after spending a night in jail.' Sherlock said with a sadistic smile, placing a hand on Leo's arm and dragging him up the alleyway, an exhausted Ruby traipsing after him.

* * *

**Three chapters, three days. I am on FIRE! (Extra brownie points for you if you got the Sherlock reference)**


	10. Chapter 10

**A Tradition Is Born**

'I've already told you, I'm not talkin' to you lot.' Leo Shannon muttered, his words muffled by his head being buried in his arms.

'Well, you're not leaving until you do.' Lestrade grumbled, a shattered looking Donovan slouching in the adjacent chair of the interview room.

'False.' Leo said, his head lifting. 'You've placed me under arrest but until you say anything about _charging_ me, you only have 72 hours before I'm released. Three of which have disappeared. Tick, tock, tick, tock! Time's trickling away.'

'You sure you don't want a lawyer?' Lestrade asked, repeating the question for the fourth time.

'Only guilty people need lawyers.' Leo said dismissively. Lestrade and Donovan exchanged a heavy glance as Leo's head sunk onto his arms once again.

'What do you think he's playing at?' Ruby asked, her voice failing to travel through the one-way mirror.

'He's doing one of two things: playing down the 72 hours until he can go home or waiting to speak with the right officer.' Sherlock stated, his breath misting the glass, his eyes glaring at the hidden face of Leo Shannon.

'Sherlock, you're not accusing someone of being a bent cop, right?' John asked, nursing a plastic cup of coffee, frowning at his tall companion.

'And why not, John?'

'Why _not_?' John dropped his voice to a whisper despite the room being empty bar the three of them. 'Your word has a little more weight behind it compared with the common man, if you start saying things like that, Lestrade's going to take it seriously.'

'I'd have no objection; personally I'd love to see Donovan investigated.' Sherlock's face contracted into a cruel frown at these sadistic words.

'Look, Ruby, he doesn't mean anything by this –'

'I don't really care John.' Ruby said honestly. 'I just want to figure out what this Leo guy knows. He can link this investigation to the person who killed Benicio's mother. You're sure this mystery man is doing the murders himself and not hiring another duo like Jackie and Tommy Braxton to do the dirty work for him, right?' Her last question was directed to Sherlock.

'As I've told you and Lestrade _countless_ times, this is a personal betrayal! And when a personal betrayal is being dealt with, the person who was directly affected is expected to carry out the physical act of revenge. Leo was ordered by this man and unfortunately for us, he's turned out to be as stupidly loyal as the Braxton twins.' Sherlock drawled though his quarry couldn't hear his words.

'Hush! He's going to talk again.' Ruby waved her hand in Sherlock's direction to silence him. Leo perked up, stretched for a long moment, his long, powerful arms reaching far over his head as he yawned. He folded his arms and glared at the two sitting opposite him.

'You want me to talk? Yeah, it's really simple then. You lot disappear, turn off the recording devices and cameras and clear every single person behind that room there –' He pointed right at John through the one-way mirror. '–and send in that fine detective who managed to chase me down in the first place. It can be her reward for catching the great Leo Shannon, parkour extraordinaire. Not that you oldies would have a clue what parkour even _is_…'

'You can seek an audience with Detective Smith but everything else is out of the question.' Donovan snarled.

'Well then, send her in and you two can watch our little exchange from the poorly concealed room over _there_.' He nodded once again towards the one-way mirror.

'Why does he want to talk with me?' Ruby asked a little too quickly.

'You interest him.' Sherlock said baldly.

'I _interest_ him?'

'To him you're not… how shall I phrase this? The _average _police officer, your hobbies are slightly unusual and give you an edge in your work. I'd be inclined to bet that's his sole reason for wanting a pleasant chat with you. Apart from the obvious motivation of course.'

'Which _is_…?' Sherlock looked down at her, a pitying look in his eyes. He really had the talent to press people's buttons, furthering this ability by boasting with only a look instead of words. 'Sherlock?' Ruby repeated, rather proud of how well she disguised her ruffled pride at missing something he characterised as obvious.

'He wants to tell you something, a scrap of information which he'll feel comfortable saying only to your face, something only you will recognise… but he doesn't know I'm behind this glass and will be able to understand too.' He added pompously. The door to the interview room slammed shut and in a matter of seconds, Donovan, Lestrade and to Sherlock's obvious displeasure Anderson, entered the room.

'Holmes; who gave you the black eye? I want to propose marriage to them.' Anderson jeered as his eyes fell on the fading bruise.

'Your wife did after I told her you had an affair. She really needs to come to grips with the concept of "not shooting the messenger".' Sherlock's smirk was overly indulgent at the look of horror which crawled onto both Donovan's and Anderson's faces.

'Alright Smith. You're up; make him sing for us if you wouldn't mind.' Lestrade muttered, trying to dispel the forthcoming argument.

_No bloody pressure then. _

'He's really saying no to a lawyer?' She asked. Lestrade nodded slowly before moving to the side, allowing her to exit the concealed room. Ruby closed the door and took a few, deep breaths, planning her strategy as well as she could for this unorthodox interview with a suspect who didn't want a lawyer. Then it was game time and she entered the interview chamber.

'Well hello, _detective_.' Leo said with a small smile, watching her carefully as she took the chair opposite him.

'What's up, Leo?'

'See? That's what I'm talking about!' He said while slamming his fist against the table. 'These officers could really take a leaf or two from your book, employing colloquial language, learning how to free-run… I bet you've some other tricks up your sleeve too.' He said, his eyes sliding over her frame. 'You're the revolution the metropolitan has been in dire need of these past few years. I'm happy they're finally taking some action to combat their outdated staff.' He tugged at the edge of his hood, making a show of how warm he was. 'Do you mind if I remove this?' He asked, indicating the blue jumper. Ruby shook her head. Leo pulled at the material for a moment before yanking it off, his t-shirt catching as he peeled the jumper from his skin, exposing a lean torso rippling with muscles and a detailed tattoo inked over his chest. He tugged his t-shirt back down and delicately hung his hoody on the back of his chair before looking up at Ruby through long eyelashes. 'Like what you see?' His voice was smoother, more charismatic.

'Nothing less than I expected.' Ruby responded, completely nonplussed. 'You can't run like you do without having a decent build-up of muscle to rely on. To be honest, I'd be more surprised if you _didn't _have it.'

'Nice answer, you don't swoon over a six pack, a very important skill to have as a police officer in London. Now… how exactly did you get into parkour?'

'Well, how did you?'

'I asked first.'

'I want to see if our experiences match.'

'Well, my story isn't exactly _riveting_. I was bored. So I started jumping off stuff which was too high with other people who were bored.'

'I learned parkour in the same place I learned how to dive: college.'

'You're joking.'

'Nope, there was a society and everything.' She shook her head with a smile. Leo's eyes grew slightly colder in light of this explanation.

'Enough with the banter. Let's get down to the proper chat, shall we?'

'Why? It's not like you're going to tell me anything different to my colleagues… right?'

'You might be surprised.'

'Ok… who gave you the order to send Jackie and Thomas Braxton to "whack" Sherlock Holmes?'

'You won't believe me if I tell you.' Leo said, his features taking on an insecure look.

'We've heard it all.' Ruby replied patiently.

'Really?'

'Really.'

'Alright… the person who called me, the supposed "Middle Man"... was a guy named Jesus.' He said solemnly. It took every whit of Ruby's self-control not to storm out of the room.

'_Jesus_?' She hissed.

'Oh yes. He rang me up, told me this Sherlock Holmes was a blasphemer and should be "taken care of"!' Leo's words were punctuated with hiccoughs of laughter. Ruby satisfied her disgruntled pride with a small, vivid fantasy of smashing Leo Shannon's grinning face onto the stainless steel table repeatedly.

'So Jesus… is that a nickname for someone?' She asked; cutting easily through Leo's dying laughter.

'No, of course it isn't! Oh and by the by, I'm an atheist, I was merely poking fun at this ridiculous investigation not to mention the "consulting detective" watching me from behind that one-way mirror!' He sneered.

'Oh, I think I understood your irreverent reference.' Ruby said calmly.

'Well, I wanted to make sure.'

'Mr Shannon, would you mind spreading your hands flat on the desk in front of you please?'

'What?'

'Do as I ask, Mr Shannon.' Leo reluctantly complied, splaying his fingers against the steel surface of the table. Ruby had no interest in any of his fingers except his thumbs. They were well shaped but held no distinctive markings be they tattoos or brands, just an ordinary set of thumbs… except for the nails. Ruby squinted, her gaze flicking from one nail to the other, making sure she wasn't seeing things. A few routine questions later provided with equally unhelpful answers, Ruby sighed in defeat before planning to make her exit. 'Thank you Mr Shannon; that will be all.' Ruby said abruptly before stalking from the interview room, wondering what it was about the fingernails on Leo's thumbs which attracted so much of her attention. A memory was niggling beneath the surface of conscious thought but was for now, beyond her grasp.

A few minutes later she was huddled in her coat outside of the station, looking for a taxi to take her home. After successfully yielding one, she clambered into the backseat, only to find someone had hopped in after her and shut the door.

'Hey! This taxi's occupied – _Sherlock_! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?' Ruby demanded.

'221b Bakerstreet.' Sherlock informed the cabbie, completely ignoring Ruby's question.

'That alright, love?' The taxi driver asked.

'No, it is _not _alright! Sherlock, I don't know what you think you're playing at –'

'What time is it?' He smoothly interjected.

'Eh… what?'

'The time. Do you have it? I count it to be just after 9pm, wouldn't you agree?' Ruby glanced at her phone before nodding.

'Sure, it's nine, but I don't understand what that's got to do with –'

'In half an hour, you're alarm is going to go off on your phone.'

'Oh.' Ruby's outrage crumbled. 'I forgot.'

'I'm shocked. 221b Bakerstreet when you're ready.' He directed to the cabbie.

'What about John? Shouldn't we wait for him?'

'He'll get the next one.'

'Brilliant best friend you are.' Ruby muttered as the cab pulled away from the station. Sherlock didn't even bother to waste a moment of his precious time constructing a retort to this meagre insult. The taxi trundled onwards for fifteen minutes or so, the passengers deliberately ignoring their fellow traveller. Sherlock sprang out of the cab before it had come to a complete stop, paid the cabbie and stalked towards his front door. Ruby followed him up the wooden staircase, not having to worry about finding any unwanted visitors in Sherlock's flat – unlike her previous experience. Sherlock wasted no time hanging up his great coat and scarf before flinging himself into his green armchair. He glanced at his watch and sighed, tapping his hands rhythmically against the armrests of his chair.

'Why 9:33?' He suddenly asked, catapulting the question in Ruby's direction.

'You mean you don't know?'

'I wouldn't be asking if I did. Actually that's a lie… I sometimes ask people about my theories and when they question how I could have possibly deduced a particular outcome; it was because of their confession and their confession alone which allows me to continue with a case.' Ruby didn't think it was normal for a human being to expel information at such high speed. '9:33… obviously something of a sentimental nature…' He trailed off. Ruby placed her tired and aching body in the opposing armchair and as she leant against the Union Jack pillow, a realisation washed over her.

'So _that's_ why you didn't want John to come in the taxi with us.' Sherlock glanced at her but didn't speak. 'You don't want him knowing you invite me over so you can have some fresh, second-hand smoke. You don't want him to be disappointed in you…' Ruby said, liking the way her words provoked such annoyance from her smoking companion.

'Oh, stop being so moronic!' Sherlock's hands gestured wildly as he spoke the last word, his flash of temper disappearing as he sunk into the sanctuary of his green leather chair. 'Then again, I suppose it can only be expected that some of the stupidity of the combined influence of Donovan, Lestrade and Anderson has rubbed off on you.' He concluded thoughtfully.

'I'm right.' Ruby muttered triumphantly. 'You care about what he thinks of you as a person, not just for your abilities.' Sherlock's eyes hardened and his features took on a colder, darker appearance. He was about to deliver a perfectly crafted insult which would provide a heavy blow against Ruby's self-esteem but the words were never uttered, a persistent beeping blocked their path. 'Second-hand smoke time.' Ruby said, allowing her voice to adopt a lilting, sing-song quality. Ignoring his stinging glare, she took the chair beside him, unwound her earphones and proceeded to smoke her classy cigarette, hoping Sherlock would be in a better mood after inhaling some high-quality tobacco.

She stubbed her cigarette after five minutes and returned the lighter to its case before turning her attention to Sherlock Holmes whose eyes were temporarily closed. 'More questions?' He asked without opening his eyes.

'Yes…' She nibbled on the edge of her thumb. 'Um, how exactly did you know?' She asked quietly, her eyes tracing over the almost completely faded bruise Tommy had gifted Sherlock exactly a week ago.

'You'll have to be a little less vague.'

'About the parkour? How did you know I could _run_?' He opened his eyes and observed her keenly.

'Your body told me.' He said casually.

'Want to be a little more specific?'

'Nope.'

'Fine. How did you manage to catch up with me so quickly when it took Lestrade 15 minutes to figure out where I was?'

'I've already told you half of the answer to that.'

'_Half_ of the answer?'

'I know every street in London. Once you careered off the roof in chase of Mr Shannon, I plotted an estimated route in my head, taking in some room for variety of course, and followed on the ground.' Ruby could only stare at Sherlock in a completely thunderstruck manner. The nonchalant way of describing this fine achievement only served to highlight the astounding nature of Sherlock's strategy.

'Good job.' She muttered just as the front door slammed below them.

'Sherlock? Are you here?' John called, climbing the staircase quickly. 'Thanks for abandoning me at the station – _again_.' He said sarcastically as he walked into the room. 'Oh. Hello Ruby.' John greeted her a little uncertainly.

'Hi John.' Ruby said with a slight wave, relieved that someone with a normal endowment of empathy had entered the room to counteract the calculating robot beside her.

'Has Sherlock done something wrong?' He asked suspiciously.

'No, we're just… talking.' Ruby said, wondering if the exchange of a few deductions counted as a conversation.

'About the case? Yeah, Leo said something interesting after the two of you left the station.' He tried to keep the annoyance from his voice at being left behind.

'What did he say?' Sherlock asked immediately, looking at his flatmate for the first time since he'd entered the room.

'Oh, you see me now do you?' John asked angrily, sitting rigidly in his chair.

'Oh John, surely you're not angry about getting a separate _taxi _home –'

'You know what Sherlock? You're not very good at communication so I think you should just stop talking.' John said factually, his voice icy with annoyance. Sherlock opened his mouth to retort but John spoke over him, turning his body away from the dark-haired detective and focusing his attention on Ruby. 'Yes, so as I was saying.' He continued in a loud voice, causing Sherlock to swallow his retort. 'Mr Shannon said something after you left the interview room. To do with thumbs, actually.'

'What did he say?' Ruby demanded.

'He said it was too soon to get a new one. Then he curled his fists and stared at both of his thumbs.'

'He did _not_.' Ruby said; a smile creeping onto her face as the memory finally surged to the surface, embracing her mind with the glow of an epiphany. John returned the smile, glad his presence was being appreciated by someone at least.

'I don't see how this is of any use.' Sherlock drawled, killing John's smile a little.

'Well then you're not the all-seeing God you perceive yourself to be.' Ruby snapped before pulling a leg beneath her. 'Mr Shannon's trying to help us.' She declared.

'If his sort of help involves questioning people's faith and making bizarre comments then we can do without it.' Sherlock said sharply.

'If you're so observant, then you noticed something on both of his thumbnails, didn't you?' Ruby said.

'Near the tip of each nail there was a small, black line.' Sherlock replied in a bored voice. 'What of it?'

'Ever heard of a fingernail tattoo?' Ruby pressed.

'A tattoo… on your _fingernail_?' John asked, completely outraged.

'Yes, they're quite controversial because unlike any other tattoos, these aren't permanent because your nails grow. Eventually the tattoo will disappear after a period of say three months and Leo looks like he's just gotten rid of his, leaving only the last fragment of the symbol at the tip of his thumbnails.' Ruby said excitedly, feeling her theory cement in place.

'And that would explain the brand you were thinking of Sherlock, if the members of this gang were getting tattoos on their thumbnails and their thumbs were cut away from their hands post-mortem, wouldn't it mean they're complete expulsion from the gang?' John asked his still roommate. Sherlock hadn't moved a muscle since Ruby's proposal of a fingernail tattoo, his eyes closed, his posture rigid as thoughts flew through different possibilities; searching for something which would link everything together.

'What a very risky solution, then again he _was_ desperate…' Sherlock muttered to himself as he slowly opened his eyes. John heaved a sigh before observing his intimidatingly eccentric flatmate.

'Sorry… who's desperate?' He asked with a furrowed brow.

'So that means he already knows, hence this tidy little plan.' Sherlock said, while nodding his head. 'Yes, it's the only way.'

'_What's _the only way, Sherlock?' John snapped; his patience wearing thin.

'Well, it's perfectly clear that Mr Shannon allowed himself to be caught by the police and taken into custody on purpose.'

'Excuse me?' Ruby asked in a dangerously quiet voice.

'Do _neither_ of you see?' His gaze roved from one frustratingly blank face to the other. 'Mr Shannon is _clearly_ the next one to be killed.'

'_What_?' John yelled.

'Think! It's the only way which makes sense. He wishes to help us catch whoever is carrying out all of these hits as his name is next on the list. Meaning…?' He raised his eyebrows at John and Ruby, daring one of them to finish his sentence. 'Meaning he's the last of them, the only live member of the group which betrayed our killer!' He finished triumphantly.

'But Sherlock, he tried to have you killed.' Ruby said, stating the obvious flaw in his theory.

'Yes, of course he did, don't you _understand_?! That was his last saving grace, if he offered to have me taken out, it would seem as if everything was normal and his loyalties still remained with our killer. He knows he's going to be killed next, _that's _the reason he's giving us clues!'

'That's all very good, but why did he try to run from the police? Why not walk into a police station?' John asked.

'Oh John, I pity your meagre mind, the world must seem so dull when seen through your eyes.' John's face visibly darkened. 'And in answer to your question, he was keeping up appearances! If he waltzed into the police station, he was marking himself as a dead man but by leading the police on a merry chase –quite literally in this case– he's giving the impression of someone who isn't going to roll over and tell tales to a bunch of pigs.'

'_Sherlock_! Ruby, I'm so sorry –'

'Don't worry about it.' Ruby said with a shrug. 'I've heard a lot worse.' She leant back in her chair and folded her arms. 'But Mr Shannon ran so hard Sherlock; someone trying to be caught doesn't run that fast from the police.'

'At first it did seem his escape was a genuine one… but did it not strike you as odd that his main priority upon touching the ground _wasn't_ to get up to the rooftops of London again? He was at a complete disadvantage in those crowded streets; you were much better equipped to manoeuvre yourself through the mob.'

'But Sherlock, you can't be serious. Even for you that seems a bit of a flimsy foundation to base your theory on.' Sherlock ignored John's useless comment, his eyes trained on the red haired detective who he knew was coming around to his way of thinking.

'He didn't even attempt to resist arrest.' Ruby murmured, remembering how odd she'd found Mr Shannon's carefree disposition after she'd slapped the bracelets on his wrists.

'He's safer behind bars than he is walking the streets; _that's_ the reason he wanted to be caught.' Sherlock concluded victoriously. Ruby chewed the side of her thumb, her mind spinning from these revelations.

'If he's intentionally giving us clues in order to save his life, has he told us anything else?' She eventually asked.

'Jesus… that's the name he gave you when you quizzed him on the identity of our killer.' Sherlock rolled his palms together, his eyes gazing at something which John and Ruby couldn't see.

'Yes Sherlock… and I'm pretty sure he was joking.' John said with a strained smile.

'But what if he wasn't? What if the name were a clue…' Sherlock's voice sounded strangely monotonous as his mind roved through countless pieces of information.

'Like a pseudonym?' Sherlock raised his eyebrows incredulously in his direction. 'Don't look at me like that; leaders of gangs call themselves all kinds of things.' John said reproachfully.

'And you think we should trawl the streets of London in search of _Jesus_? Then again, I happen to have the perfect outfit to disguise myself as a Jehovah's Witness.' Sherlock pursed his lips for a moment. '_Or_…' He cocked his head to the side, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. Then he sprang from his chair, tugged on his coat and scarf before storming out of the door without another word.

'Need me?' John asked.

'No!'

'Good, sod off then.' John muttered as Sherlock's coat tails flapped around the corner of 221b.

'Or what…?' Ruby yelled as he descended the stairs. The front door slammed before Sherlock gave her an answer.

'Don't worry about it, you'll get used to his abrupt exits. And if you don't, you'll probably end up killing him. If you do the latter, I'll help you get rid of the body.' John's smile was a surprisingly genuine one.

'Good to know I'll have an ally.' Ruby said, returning his smile.

'Listen; that free-running you did today? It was pretty incredible.'

'Eh, thanks.'

'It was in fact, um, _so_ incredible that you might want to switch on the news…' John's voice trailed away ominously.

'The news?' Ruby asked, full of suspicion and an inexplicable dread.

'You know; that annoying programme on TV which dumps other people's woes on our doorstep? Sound familiar?' John flicked on the telly and switched to the news which was replaying its top story of an explosion in a far off country. The anchor shuffled his papers and returned his attention to the screen.

'In other news, a thrilling chase, something you'd expect to see more in the movies than on the streets of London took place just after five o'clock this evening. A suspect was chased over countless rooftops by a police officer employing a modern, French form of running known as "parkour". I would like to inform you that the following footage is taken by an assortment of amateur cameramen.' The strictly dressed anchor disappeared and was replaced with footage captured on someone's camera phone pointing up at the rooftops of London. Ruby could just about see two figures sprinting along the flat terrain, vaulting over obstacles with ease. This footage quickly switched to another camera phone capturing Mr Shannon dropping from three separate balconies onto the ground far below with Ruby in hot pursuit. She could hear her voice through the crowd announcing that she was with the police and to stop immediately. This was accompanied by the voice of the cameraman exclaiming 'Oh my God! That's a police officer! Duncan did you hear that? The girl's a bloody police officer!' The shaky camerawork gave way to the serene newsroom, the smiling anchor nodding meaningfully at the camera.

'Yes, the successful chase was conducted by a newly promoted detective who unfortunately was unavailable for comment as was Detective Inspector Lestrade. We are currently awaiting a statement concerning the details of this gripping chase and the charges to be pressed against the suspect, the identity of which has yet to be released.'

John switched off the telly, doing his best to master a chuckle at Ruby's flabbergasted expression. She blinked slowly and turned towards him. 'Did that… just happen?'

'If you mean footage of you chasing Mr Shannon over the rooftops of London caught by members of the public was broadcasted on Britain's most watched news channel – then yes. That did just happen.'

'This day just keeps getting _weirder_.'

'That's usually what happens when you work with someone like Sherlock. Now, I don't mean to be rude, but I have a dinner date which I'm already… 10 minutes late for?' He sighed exasperatedly after checking his watch. 'I will never be able to keep a stable relationship with Sherlock as my best friend.' He proclaimed.

'Message received, I'll get out of your hair.' Ruby said, quickly recovering from the shock of seeing her parkour chase on the news. 'See you around John!' She called over her shoulder as she descended the stairs of 221b, not realising John had told a blatant lie in order to obtain a rare luxury: a few hours of undisturbed peace in the flat.

* * *

**Four in a row. It's nice having your addiction for writing stories receive appreciation. Thanks my lovely readers!**


	11. Chapter 11

**The Sanctuary is Breached.**

'Back so soon?' John asked, doing his best to hide his disappointment as Sherlock returned some sixty minutes later. 'Where were you anyway?'

'I had to speak with an acquaintance and after some mild threats; he gave me some _very _interesting information. In fact, I'm tempted to call Lestrade and tell him I've solved the case.'

'You know who the serial killer is?' John asked incredulously.

'Don't be absurd, I know where he'll be three nights from now. He's looking to leave the country after completing what we now know will be his final kill which coincides with the time Mr Shannon is released from custody. Coincidence? I think not.'

'And who exactly told you such information?'

'Ah. The knower of all names. He owed me a favour so I took the liberty of paying him a visit.' Sherlock sighed upon observing John's blank expression and flattened his explanation into one which he'd understand. 'Jesus; John. Jesus. He ratified the existence of such a person leading a gang in London.'

'So Mr Shannon was definitely trying to help us then?'

'Unquestionably. He wants us to catch this Jesus character before he gets his thumbs removed.' Sherlock sat down in his armchair, pulled his knees to his chest and pressed his long fingers together. 'Bait.' He suddenly proclaimed.

'Are we going fishing?'

'Why yes John, I believe that metaphor will work in this context. I'll let Lestrade know.'

'Sorry… let him know what exactly?' Sherlock sighed, allowing his legs to slump to the floor as he leant forwards.

'Lestrade can negotiate a deal with Mr Shannon, one which will significantly lessen any time he spends in prison in exchange for leading us right to the serial killer. There's no avoiding it, he'll have to accept the offer.' He murmured, nodding his head. His eyes flew towards the entrance of their flat at the sound of the doorbell.

'Who the bloody hell is that at this hour?'

'Has to be a case!' Sherlock said excitedly as he sprang from his chair and hurried down the steps to the front door. He wrenched it open but found no person for him to begin analysing. In their stead was a small, white envelope lying innocently at his feet. He looked up and down the darkened street but could see no sign of the messenger. He then hesitantly stooped and picked up the envelope, feeling its cheap material and single sheet of folded paper within. After closing the door and returning to his armchair, he sliced it with his envelope opener and with a gloved hand, carefully withdrew its contents.

'Sherlock… what is that?' John asked as his flatmate quickly scanned the contents of the page.

'Hmm? Oh this? Nothing. Nothing at all.' He then threw the page into the crackling fire beside him, the sheet bursting into flames before John could get a good look at it. Sherlock then picked up a book and buried his head amongst its pages, trying to remain unsuspicious. But he had to get rid of John. Now. There wasn't much time left for him to act. 'Don't you have an early shift at the clinic tomorrow?' He suddenly asked.

'Oh blimey, I forgot about that.' John checked his watch. 'Alright then, unless you need me for anything…?' His flatmate didn't respond. 'Okay. I'm off to bed.' Sherlock stared resolutely at the page in front of him, depicting the process for successfully cooling mercury to form a solid but failing to absorb any of the information. 'Oh, and you should turn on the news, you might find something of interest!' John called as he opened the door to his bedroom.

'What's on the news?' Sherlock asked in a tight voice.

'Some members of the public caught some footage of Ruby chasing Mr Shannon today and it's been playing on loop over the past few hours.' Sherlock bolted upright, his face strained as he took in John's words. 'Are you sure you're alright?' John glanced uncertainly at his flatmate; he looked tense, well _more_ tense than usual.

'Can you see Ruby clearly from the footage?'

'Not from the first clip… but the second one. Sure.'

'Oh.' This was a bad stroke of luck indeed.

'What was on that piece of paper you threw in the fire? It's unsettled you.'

'Never mind that for now, I need you to remember exactly John; did Leo Shannon ask to make a phone call after I left the station?'

'He did, but Sherlock… what's wrong? What have you figured out?'

'It seems things have taken an ominous turn, John.' Sherlock admitted, knowing he couldn't pull the wool over his friend's eyes on this occasion. 'I need you to figure out where Ruby lives and text me her address.' His voice was calm, meaning John should adopt a similar disposition. 'I've hacked into the Scotland Yard database, you should find it there.'

'Right.' John squared his shoulders and returned to the living room, taking the seat in front of the laptop. Sherlock dragged on his coat and silently descended the stairs, tying his scarf around his neck as he went. The front door slammed and John began his search, finding after a few blunders the current address of detective Ruby Smith. 'That can't be right…' John mused, his eyes scanning over the unusual line of text. He double-checked his work before concluding this was indeed the correct address. He picked up his phone and quickly called Sherlock, wondering what he was out doing at that very moment.

'I thought I told you to text me.'

'Yes well, I didn't want you thinking I got the wrong address. It says here that her current place of residence is: The Intercontinental Hotel, more specifically the London Suite.' Silence greeted his words. 'Sherlock? You still there?'

'Of _course_! Why didn't I see it before now?'

'So it's the right address?'

'Yes John, now I have one more favour to ask of you.'

'Shoot.'

'_Don't _leave the house.' Sherlock hung up before John could argue, proceeding to give the address of the Intercontinental Hotel to his cabbie. The pieces had all fallen into place – a little slower than his usual problem solving pace but nonetheless, he had everything he needed. John's last detail had been crucial in cementing his theory into law, proving that the letter he'd thrown into the fire hadn't been some form of hoax.

Any doubts over Mr Shannon trying to help with this investigation had ceased and as the taxi skirted around a corner some ten minutes later, the Intercontinental Hotel loomed ahead. Sherlock stepped out of the taxi and walked nonchalantly into what he knew to be one of London's most preposterously expensive hotels. He nodded to the doorman, the numerous porters and sauntered into the decadent lobby which failed to make an impression on him as he sought the elevators. Upon entering one such elegant vessel, he realised the top floor was key access only, not an unusual feature but an annoying one nonetheless. He curtly stepped out of the elevator and after spying a cleaning lady entering the adjacent one, hopped in beside her. 'Nice day isn't it?' He asked her cheerfully, hating the tedious small talk he had to create.

'I've seen better, sir.' Sherlock scanned the middle-aged woman and sighed as facts from her appearance promptly presented themselves. Husband was having an affair. Saving up money for plastic surgery. Had two kids, one of which was a disappointment. Once upon a time she'd kept a meticulous appearance but had given up after losing her youth. 'Which floor, sir?'

'25, thanks.' The doors trundled to a close and as the elevator started upwards, Sherlock staggered; his hand brushing lightly against the cleaner as he righted himself. 'Oh, I do apologise!' Sherlock's voice sounded hollow in his ears but his features must have convinced her of his sincerity.

'Maybe you should take the stairs next time.' She said with a smile as the doors opened and she pushed her cart out of the elevator.

'I'll take note of that!' Sherlock returned the smile but it didn't reach his eyes, the curl of his lips discarded as soon as the door slid across. He took out the card he'd lifted from the cleaner and swiped it against floor "33" and just as he expected, the lift ignored the button pressed "25" and continued upwards to the suite. It was little perks such as these which allowed posh hotels to charge such extortionist rates. After waiting another ten seconds, the lift opened, exposing a short corridor with a fine door at its end. Sherlock's footsteps were muffled by the plush carpet as he carefully progressed along the corridor. He ignored the sumptuous decoration which begged to be admired but appreciated the violin concerto by Beethoven, a favourite of his, playing from concealed speakers. He came to the door and was just about to swipe his stolen key when he realised it was wholly unnecessary; the door was already ajar. It was then he realised that the Beethoven piece wasn't mindless corridor music; it was coming through the chink in the door. With a gloved hand, he carefully pushed the door open, ignoring the staggering size of what appeared to be the living room of the suite and the beautiful view attained from the wall of glass stretching up some fifteen feet and extending the length of the sizeable chamber. Movie posters in black, expensive frames hung from the walls at tasteful intervals, characters from movies such as Fight Club, Trainspotting, Pulp Fiction and The Lord Of The Rings watched his unauthorised entrance with dead eyes. No, these items did not attract his attention, the upturned furniture, the room service cart and the obvious loudness of the music hinted at something far more sinister than the pretty façade of the room. He kept a sharp eye out for any sign of movement, the heaviness only a gun could provide in his pocket giving him the reassurance he needed to recklessly explore the suite. No-one was in sight in the living room and judging by the angle the armchair had been overturned and the few buttons which lay scattered on the heated flagstones, the struggle had progressed into the next room. Ignoring the set of spiral stairs which lead to an upper floor, a bedroom he presumed, he hurried across the living room and waited outside of the door which led to the kitchen judging from the smell of freshly made food. The source of the music was coming from behind this closed door, making it impossible to discern any suspicious movement from within. Sherlock laid himself on the ground and peered beneath the slight gap under the door, squinting as he searched for moving shadows.

Nothing.

He hopped to his feet and gently pushed against the polished wood. It gave way without the hint of a squeak, revealing a highly modern kitchen, backed again with a huge window and complete with many fancy appliances. A large, sleek island at the centre of the kitchen with a shining, black counter captured his attention; a plate of freshly prepared food lay untouched upon its surface. Sherlock felt the wok beside the untouched dinner – it was still warm. The music heightened as it reached the end of the concerto, the strings mounting and mounting, providing a dramatic backdrop as Sherlock stalked across the room, noticing two more buttons on the wooden kitchen floor leading to the left of two doors at the end of the large room. The light was on beneath one of them and as he watched the gap beneath the door, he could discern a shadow moving back and forth. He unsheathed his gun and clicked off the safety trigger, a process masked by the tremendous music in the background. He indulged himself for a moment and waited until the final notes of the concerto died away. In the deathly silence which ensued, he sharply pushed on the door and entered the bathroom.

The first thing to see was blood. Not a huge amount, only a small, oozing puddle fanning out across the expensive enamel of the shower. Two figures lay slumped in the spacious bathroom; one was face-down in the shower, the water running from the hand-held faucet spraying his still body with luke-warm water. His smashed nose was bleeding profusely and the blood was sluggishly mingling with the water, the mixture meandering towards the drain. His lips, even in the depths of unconscious slumber, were upturned in a snarl of pain. The other man had the beginnings of an impressive bruise blossoming on the side of his temple and judging by the shape of the bruise, it had been inflicted by a slender, rounded object. Unlike his counterpart, he seemed at peace, his body resting gently in the bathtub. Both were unfamiliar, still alive but most importantly; both had the same black spiral tattooed onto their thumb nails. The ink looked fresh and Sherlock knew that at one stage Mr Shannon had held the same markings on his own nails. Just as the symbol hacked into the wooden underside of the staircase had meant betrayal, amongst certain gangs this particular tattoo translated to mean one word: loyalty. Disappointingly, the killer wasn't amongst these two men, Sherlock was sure of that. These were other goons commissioned to do the dirty work but they had obviously underestimated their prey that evening. Sherlock's eyes flicked away from the two men and landed on an abandoned piece of clothing, a black tank-top which lay crumpled against the bowl of the sink. It had been torn from its owner with vile intent; the right sleeve ripped apart, threads of darkest black draped like unhealthy strands of hair over the shining china.

Sherlock had deduced all of this within five seconds of walking into the softly lit bathroom, his keen gaze scanning over the two unconscious men before returning to the main eye-catching event of the room. Detective Ruby Smith stood at the centre of the chaos, her stance slouched, her appearance dishevelled. She observed him carefully, her green eyes hard, alert. Locks of blood-red hair tumbled carelessly down her shoulders, a few shorter strands framing her face in a despairing sort of manner. A flush was retreating from her cheeks, meaning the physical struggle had ended no less than five minutes ago. Sherlock's eyes travelled further down noting the tattered white shirt – hence the buttons outside – which allowed the garment to split open, revealing the detective's midriff. The shirt had been ripped from her body first followed by the tank top and in the aftermath of the physical struggle, Ruby had gingerly tugged on the white garment. Meaningless facts such as the exact degree of Ruby's fitness jumped out from this display of skin but nothing was as interesting as the bruise slowly blossoming beneath the plain black bra. This time tomorrow it would surely cover the right side of her ribcage. It was the work of a foot, not of a curled fist; she'd been kicked at least three separate times in the same area during the attack. Two ribs were definitely cracked, if not more. She was wearing the same combat trousers, the rips at the knees revealing a bloody gash which hadn't been there after her parkour run. No shoes or socks clad her feet, exposing nimble toes with unpolished nails. The silver baseball bat lay clenched in her right hand, her knuckles white against the handle, a hint of blood and hair stuck to its base; undoubtedly the weapon used to deal such stinging damage to the unconscious intruders. His gaze flicked back to her face where he found a look of distrust etched into her features. This combined with the readjustment of her grip on the troublesome bat led Sherlock to believe that she didn't think him any different to these ruffians. She'd reverted to a primitive stance, squashing all societal norms to basic instincts. All that mattered right now was that she was a woman who had just been attacked and he was a man – a man admittedly holding a gun. He quickly clicked off the safety trigger and pocketed the firearm and held up his hands.

'I'm not going to hurt you.' He said truthfully, doing his best to sound sincere though the words fell with a dull metal thump from his lips. The red-haired detective watched him for a moment, her gaze darting over his smartly-dressed body but gaining not a tenth from his appearance as he did from hers. Then, to Sherlock's utter astonishment, Ruby let out a small tinkle of laughter.

'No shit.' Her grip relaxed on the bat and she gingerly stepped forwards, using her left hand to cradle the right side of her chest as she tried not to upset her tender ribcage. 'Would you mind taking the gun from the guy with the shattered nose? I'd do it myself, but as I'm sure you've noticed; I'm a little fragile at the moment.' She hobbled past him and opened the door, re-entering the stylish kitchen and waiting patiently for Sherlock to join her. After he took the gun from the man's inner pocket, he strode out of the bathroom which Ruby quickly locked. Sherlock pocketed the gun, a stylish silver pistol with a barrel full of bullets before observing Ruby intently. She leant the baseball bat against the kitchen counter, grabbed the untouched plate of food and hobbled into the living room. There she very slowly lowered her body onto the massive couch, the soft cushions enveloping her with a tender caress. She lifted a forkful of Chinese stir fry to her lips but realised someone was watching her intently. 'What?' She asked before eating the forkful of noodles and fried chicken, savouring the oriental mix of flavours as they danced along her tongue.

'You should be in shock.' Sherlock said bluntly.

'I've been in some pretty challenging situations Sherlock; I know what my reaction is to certain scenarios.' She hurriedly took another forkful of noodles, knowing in a minute she wouldn't be able to eat anything at all. 'You don't need to worry; I'm not as heartless as my colleagues have depicted you to be. Where stressful encounters are concerned; I have what I like to think of as a delayed reaction.' She muttered into her food, again taking another big bite of noodles.

'Delayed reaction?'

'It's of no use to me to panic in a situation where I need to be thinking clearly. So I put it off and start panicking around ten minutes after the incident has taken place.' She put down her fork and held her hand out in front of her. It remained perfectly still but after ten seconds, it began to tremble. Ruby sighed before placing her plate onto the glass coffee table and instructed Sherlock to pass her the brown paper bag at the other side of the room, a task he reluctantly completed. She opened the bag but didn't start to use it, not yet anyway. 'Any minute now.' She was bracing herself for the pain her damaged ribcage would inflict thanks to the repeated kicks one of those _men _had dealt her. The shaking in her hands increased as did her heart rate. Soon her chest was heaving and she firmly grasped the brown paper bag and placed it over her mouth, doing her best to calm her breathing. The pain scraped across her ribcage with each shuddering breath, pricking tears in her eyes as she slowly mastered control of her jittery breathing. A few uncomfortable minutes later, she dropped the bag and pressed a hand gently against the tender area. She returned her gaze to the consulting detective, standing in front of her with his hands clasped behind his back, a look of irritable impatience defining his rigid stance.

'Aren't you curious as to my presence in your… apartment?' He gestured around the sumptuously decorated room.

'I was waiting for your attention-seeking personality to wow me with your brilliance.' Ruby's voice snapped at the air around her, she felt completely exhausted after the panic attack.

'You're not surprised I'm here?'

'Should I be? At the scene of anything unusual, you almost always put in an appearance. Does it matter that the setting for this evening's traumatic experience happens to be my place of residence?' She was quickly tiring of Sherlock's need to show off.

'And what a grand place to reside in. We'll talk a little more about that in a moment, I know despite your traumatic little incident, you're simply _dying _to know how I worked out what was going on.'

_Am I surprised that Sherlock's here in light of recent events? Obviously. Do I care about how he managed it? Nope. Not after the day I've had._

'You know what? I think Donovan's right. You exhibit definite psychopathic tendencies and you lean more towards this side of the spectrum than anything of a sociopathic nature. So by all means Sherlock, launch into a detailed description of your brilliance instead of asking me if I'm alright.'

'Please. You studied Psychology for three years, you know better than most that I am not a psychopath.'

'You're knocking on its door with all your might you high-functioning sociopath.'

'I don't need to ask if you're alright.'

'Oh _really_? Because the men in my bathroom might have something else to say about that!' Ruby instantly regretted raising her voice as a stab of pain rippled across her chest.

'You're perfectly fine.'

'I. Just. Had. A. Panic. Attack.'

'Like you said, it was expected hence the aloof manner in which you handled it. You're not hysterical, the only reason you're crying is from the occasional stab of physical pain your cracked ribs provide, not from feeling sorry for yourself. The physical wound will heal with time and care. No, you're not angry with me for failing to inquire about your well-being; you're annoyed by the baffling conclusion you've drawn from this little event.'

'And what conclusion might that be?' Ruby said through gritted teeth.

'You enjoyed employing violence against those goons. I believe you extracted the most satisfaction from smashing the nose of the ruffian occupying the shower, especially as he was the one with more lewd intentions.' Sherlock's voice was smug, so confident was he with his analysis.

'Right there.' Ruby said with a nod.

'What?'

'Right there. That deduction. That's why people believe you're a psychopath.' She fixed the slightly confused detective with a steely glare. 'Have you ever had someone physically stronger try and force you into a sexual encounter?' Her voice was frightfully monotonous. 'Take a moment to imagine the scenario: the odds are in his favour that his vile intentions will be reaped in full. You've only one thing on your mind; escape. Escape from what this man is trying to take and what he has doubtlessly taken from other women before.' Her eyes were blazing. 'It doesn't take a genius to work out I enjoyed smashing his nose. It does however take a normal endowment of empathy to understand how that situation might affect the victim of such circumstances, regardless of the outcome.' Tears pricked her eyes as she spoke. 'Oh, I can see I've disappointed you. Did you think I was a little like you? That I could simply brush off this encounter as a minor incident not worthy of seeding doubt into any future time I spend in my home?' She hurriedly wiped away a straying tear. 'It is a strange thing that I find my pity not aiming towards myself despite having survived such an ordeal. No Sherlock; I pity _you_. Failing to grasp such basic emotional concepts or to have such little interest in them… living on this world must be a terribly lonely experience for you.' Ruby ran a hand through her hair, tousling it deliberately so it fell into her face, obscuring her features from viewing. She glanced down and suddenly took in her scantily clad midriff. She tried to close the shirt over her torso but there were no buttons remaining, all of them had popped off when the two ruffians had initially grabbed her. She pushed her hair from her face and placed her hands beside her legs, trying her best to shove her tender body from the couch.

'Your wardrobe's in your bedroom, no?' Sherlock asked quietly. Ruby paused in her pathetic efforts to leave the sanctuary of the couch to consider Sherlock's question.

'Yes…?' Without another word, the detective strode towards the spiral staircase and proceeded up the stairs, taking two at a time. 'Oi! Sherlock! Where the hell do you think you're going? That's private up there!' Ruby roared after the detective, in no state to pursue him. Less than thirty seconds later he was descending the stairs and Ruby had to blink several times before believing the information her eyes were transmitting to her brain; he was carrying a fresh shirt over his arm. He handed it over without a word and she found herself accepting the garment with dumbfounded gratitude and a slight rush of guilt. Ruby knew a psychopath wouldn't have bothered with such an odd gesture.

She laid the shirt beside her and tried once more to rise to her feet. Halfway through the process, a rippling pain across her chest made her gasp and flounder for breath, smashing back onto the low cushions of the couch. She pressed her chin against her chest and contained a growl of pain, her brow slicking with a slight layer of perspiration as she waited for the waves of pain to cease. As her blurry vision cleared, she gritted her teeth and looked at the consulting detective questioningly. Sherlock heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes before lazily offering her his hand. Her cold fingers grasped the warm leather of his gloved hand and with a surprisingly wiry strength; he drew her easily to her feet. Distracted by the throbbing ache in her ribcage, she mechanically stripped her ruined shirt and threw it onto the couch. Sherlock noisily cleared his throat and Ruby threw him a condescending look. 'Chill out Sherlock. It's nothing you haven't seen before.' She said drily. Her hands clasped the chequered material and as she gingerly drew it over her sore body; her hair fell to the side, revealing the detailed tattoo on her shoulder-blade.

'That's new.' Sherlock said, nodding at the inked design.

'No it's not.' Ruby's smirk didn't last long as prickles of pain danced along her cracked ribs. 'It was concealed by a layer of fake tan. I'm disappointed you didn't see that.' She scolded him softly while clumsily doing up the buttons of her shirt.

'You have the same tattoo.' Sherlock's voice forced Ruby to pause in her efforts at tying her shirt. 'The symbol on your back, the Celtic triple-triskle. Identical to the one hacked into the underside of the staircase where Benicio was concealed.' She slowly turned and observed him coldly.

'Do you think I'm the killer?' She asked pointedly.

'No.'

'Do you think I'm involved in this case in any shape or form apart from pursuing the scumbag who killed these people?'

'No.'

'Then what does it matter that I have this tattoo?'

'I don't believe in coincidences.' He looked at her with an unquestionably hard gaze, demanding an answer.

'Fine.' She said while heaving a sigh. 'I learned about the symbol in Art History in secondary school.' She began. 'I got the tattoo when I was twenty-three along with the rest, all symbols as I'm sure you observed.'

'_Obviously_.'

'I found it to be a safer bet tattooing a Celtic symbol on my back than the name of my first boyfriend. Wouldn't you agree?'

'Ugh. Dull. I was hoping for an explanation which wasn't so tedious.' Sherlock muttered. She finished tying the buttons of her shirt and after some awkward manoeuvring; Ruby re-took her position on the couch.

'Listen, what I said before… about you not being able to grasp emotional –'

'Never apologise for a sound analysis.' Sherlock smoothly interjected. Slightly taken aback by what she thought might have been a compliment; she floundered for a moment, trying to think of what to say next.

'So… how did you do it?' She eventually asked.

'Oh, you're interested now?' Ruby didn't respond; she just focused her attention on Sherlock's frowning face. 'Well, if you _must _know…' He said with a hefty sigh, unable to resist the urge to show off in front of an interested audience. 'A couple of unusual incidents took place today, apart from the obvious events of course. One of these was the clips of your dramatic chase with Mr Shannon being played on the news. A second was a phone call Mr Shannon made while being held in custody. And the third was an interesting note I received at 221b Bakerstreet with the words "_THE BAT HAS A TRACKING DEVICE_" pasted onto the page, the letters having been cut out from different pages of today's newspaper. The very same bat which you kept as a memento of the evening you shared with the Braxton twins. This allowed me to deduce that the phone call Mr Shannon had made was to an accomplice who in turn compiled this method of crass communication in order to give me a warning. I had John look up your current place of residence and upon entering, could instantly see that all was not well. I presume the two men disguised themselves as room service envoys judging from the discarded cart and the uniforms they were wearing. My advice now would be to get rid of the bat which Jackie, one of our dear Braxton twins, placed a tracking device in after purchasing the brutal weapon.' Sherlock's voice though rushed, retained a cool and awe-inspiring calmness. Ruby's astonishment was written clearly on her face and she shook her head slightly from disbelief before addressing him.

'Brilliant.' It was sincere, simple. 'You're fucking brilliant.'

'Another sound analysis? There may be hope for you yet detective.' Sherlock replied with a smirk, earning a small smile from the red-haired detective. 'And seeing as I am on a streak, I might as well continue: You're rich. Actually, rich is an understatement. You're one of the wealthiest people in Britain, and will be possibly the richest when your father dies and you inherit _everything_.'

'You've only just figured that out, haven't you?' She could barely hide the glee in her voice.

'What does that matter?' Sherlock snapped.

'Oh it means nothing to you I'm sure but to me… yes. It matters.'

'I see perfectly. Some hogwash, sentimental nonsense about not wanting your fellow peers down at the station knowing that whenever your father decides to pop his clogs, you can add the title "billionaire" to your curriculum vitae?' Ruby scowled at him. 'I don't see why such a title would bother you, in fact, money opens a lot more doors than it closes.'

'Of course you wouldn't understand. You're _you_. You don't care what other people think about you as a person.'

'I assure you I understand without fail. You don't want any of your "hard-earned achievements" being called into question because of having unlimited access to daddy's money.' Sherlock's voice was sickly sweet.

'Do you think I'm wrong?' Ruby's glare was unnervingly challenging.

'I find myself having no care to form an opinion on the matter.'

'It's the only way I can keep them out of my life.' Ruby's fists slowly clenched and unfurled. 'I think that's something we have in common.' She added.

'Excuse me?'

'I have an allowance donated by my parents and as a result they know I'm safe and not living on the streets in poverty. You have a similar arrangement with your parents; I'm near certain of it.'

'And what inclines you to believe that?'

'You have no job –' Sherlock raised his eyebrows. 'Fine, no _paid _job and yet you haven't any problems with paying your rent or buying expensive, tailored clothes.' Her eyes held a triumphant understanding as Sherlock failed to contradict her statement.

'Parents can be… over-attached.' He allowed.

'And they have favourites no matter what they say.' Ruby's throat grew a small lump at this and her eyes glazed over in memory.

'Yes. They do.'

'You too?'

'Hmm…?'

'Your parents had a favourite?' Sherlock looked like he was doing some quick thinking.

'My older brother.' He eventually muttered.

'You have a sibling?'

'This surprises you.'

'Well… is he anything like you?'

'Mycroft? No, not half as interesting. Doesn't have my energy.' Ruby could do nothing but marvel at Sherlock's parents' creativity in coming up with such unusual names for their offspring. Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes. What a duo.

'You know that's not what I meant.'

'Oh I'm perfectly aware of what you meant. Is Mycroft Holmes like me in terms of intellectual prowess?' Sherlock smiled at the unflinching attention he commanded from Ruby. 'Yes, I do believe he is, though he has decided to employ it in a much less important field than I.' His voice was sinfully deploring. Ruby's eyes widened at this statement, instantly detecting the sibling rivalry.

'He's smarter than you?' The angry flash in Sherlock's eyes was more than enough confirmation. 'So that's who your challenger is…'

'_Mycroft_? My _rival_? Please… He's far too lazy and much too boring to be of any interest to _me_.'

'Lazy?'

'Oh yes. Criminally so. Anything with any legwork whatsoever he turns up his protrusive nose at and places in my lap. No… he commands the title of arch-enemy.'

'Wow.'

'I know; it's all so very delightful and mysterious.'

'No, you misinterpreted my shock. You just employed the phrase "arch-enemy". Have you any idea how ridiculous you sound?'

'Not as ridiculous as someone who has just been attacked in their own home and has failed to even _think_ about alerting the police to this intrusion. You must find me truly fascinating to forget about such a formality.' His voice practically oozed arrogance.

'I've thought about it quite a lot actually. And I don't want Lestrade knowing about this.'

'Foolish girl, what would make you think such a thing? Oh, I see.' He frowned in a disapproving manner. 'Are you really so intent on maintaining the illusion of mediocrity where your colleagues are concerned that you would prefer to let this attack go unchallenged? So what if they find out you're rich. _WHO CARES?!_' He roared.

'I care. And right now, that's the only thing that matters.' Ruby retorted.

'Oh really?'

'My house, my rules.'

'You may want to change your address in your Scotland Yard account. If John can figure out where you live then it won't remain a secret for long.'

'John figured out where I live? That's not possible…' She bit the side of her thumb. 'Oh! You hacked into my account didn't you?'

'Perhaps. I needed to find where you lived.'

'I could have you thrown in jail for that.'

'And I you for withholding evidence on your first crime scene.' The two stared at each other for a moment, silently daring the other to push this conversation further. After thirty seconds of nothing, Sherlock began pacing again. 'And what _exactly _are you going to do about the men in your bathroom? Do you plan on keeping them as flatmates?'

'I need your help where they're concerned.'

'You… you have a plan?' Sherlock asked a little uncertainly.

'They'll be coming round in the next few minutes. I need to transport them to a nearby alleyway and then I'll call it in.' Ruby said resolutely. 'They're key to the case we're working on. The tattoos on their fingernails, did you see –'

'Of_ course_ I saw them.'

'Then you understand.' Ruby said meaningfully. 'Now, will you help me?'

'For the sake of you maintaining your current place of address a secret? I don't see how it's worth my while.' Ruby squared her shoulders, a painful process to undertake and stared hard at the consulting detective.

'It's no secret that I like what you do and most importantly _how_ you do it. But if this gets out that I'm some heiress, you can say goodbye to any long-term agreement we have the chance of forming here. I've helped you out before Sherlock. Now, for the sake of saving this neat little arrangement we have here, will you help me?'

'You want me to lie for you? _Again_?'

'Call it an investment.' Sherlock smirked a little at this before his eyes flicked around the room. He paused in his pacing and walked over to Ruby so his tall figure towered over her.

'Fair enough. But be warned detective, I collect very promptly on my investments.'

'I wouldn't expect any less.' Sherlock nodded for a moment before turning his mind to the logistics of their situation.

'Now, you're not in any condition to be moving an unconscious man; how exactly do you plan we execute this operation without being seen…?'

'Well, I have _one_ idea…'

* * *

**The support I'm receiving for this story is slightly overwhelming. Thank you so much! I hope you liked the longest chapter of the story so far, it took a lot of planning to properly execute this segment. **


	12. Chapter 12

**The Silent Prisoners**

After spending one of the most painful weekends in recent memory at St Bart's hospital, Ruby was finally discharged from the gloomy building. Her ribs felt decidedly less sore but she was pretty sure that was her pain medication talking. The events of the previous Friday from the parkour chase to being attacked by those thugs in her house held a surreal flare when she revisited the unusual memories, making her question their reliability. She was still slightly taken aback by how easy it had been to manoeuvre said thugs from her suite to a side alleyway to conceal her wealthy place of residence. Ruby knew the hotel inside out, it having been her home long before she accepted the undercover task as Jasmine the stripper. She knew where there were cameras and where there weren't, leading Sherlock on a path down the secret passages reserved only for the staff of the hotel. He had kept behind them and hadn't uttered a word so they would be unable to identify him later. Sherlock had urged the two men onwards, pressing the barrel of a gun into each of their backs to keep them moving. Eventually they'd exited the hotel and found a suitable alleyway where Ruby had called Lestrade in a convincingly panicked voice, explaining how she'd been jumped on her way home from work by two men who she thought might have something to do with their case. After hanging up the phone, Sherlock handed her a dustbin lid nearby, saying that this and not the baseball bat was the weapon she'd used to smash one of the ruffian's noses and concuss the other. Sherlock proceeded to knock out the men once again with a swift blow to the back of their heads and had curtly left before any police officers showed up and started asking peculiar questions.

Selling the story to Lestrade had been far too easy; all Ruby had to do was sit back and let the two ruffians do the talking for her. When they began spouting the true story about being held at gunpoint and escorted out of the most expensive suite of the Intercontinental Hotel, Lestrade, Donovan and even Anderson had a good laugh. And why wouldn't they? It was completely absurd; especially the part when they'd tried to convince Ruby's colleagues of her living in the suite seven days a week. The truth was sometimes so wonderfully unacceptable that no-one apart from those who witnessed it with their own eyes could believe it. They'd attacked a lone, unarmed, female police officer. Ruby knew what sort of unquestionable authority this gave her and felt no fear where the exposure of her wealthy background was concerned. She was safe. Secure. She knew it and most importantly, the thugs knew it too. She was asked only a few routine questions after arriving at the hospital followed by Lestrade enthusiastically returning to the station, eager to question the louts who had, in his own words "dared attack one of his own." The entire homicide squad had come to pay her a visit raising chaos in the hospital as a result, bringing balloons, food, awfully perfumed flowers and a large, cheesy get-well-soon card signed by all. The word "hero" was chucked around profusely in the friendly banter and upon hearing Jahmene use her nickname, the rest of the squad had affectionately adopted it and refused to call her anything but "Detective Red". They liked it so much as they claimed Ruby had "seen red" when those thugs had attacked her, having no clue how close they were to deciphering the true meaning of the nickname. John had popped by with his own little card, a surprisingly kind gesture from the doctor and he made some routine checks to make sure St Bart's was looking after her properly. He'd apologised for the absence of his flatmate but then reasoned it would probably best aid her recovery if she wasn't being continuously insulted and angered. Jahmene had been by her side all day, completely wiping the slate from any unsettled feelings where Ruby's reckless diving was concerned. Only when he was paged about a troublesome corpse had he left her, returning with some cheap coffee or a magazine filled with movie reviews an hour or so later.

Ruby hailed a taxi and gingerly lowered her body onto the well-worn seat, giving the quiet cabbie the address of the south London metropolitan station. At this late hour, there was little traffic and the drive was smooth and quiet, unlike the events of the past 72 hours. She chewed the side of her thumb as she remembered her last night in the hospital, the events of which felt like a highly realistic dream. She'd awoken around three in the morning with a pain tickling her ribcage, triggered by the awkward position of turning in her sleep and resting on her stomach. She'd gently righted herself and smiled when she saw the snoozing figure of Jahmene in the opposite armchair, his head resting at a comically awkward angle, his mouth wide open to catch flies. The smile had slid off her face when she noticed the shadowy figure standing at the window, staring out at the inky black sky.

'Oh good, you're awake. We need to talk.' Ruby had relaxed as the familiar figure of Sherlock Holmes discerned himself from the gloom. He had sauntered with a nonchalant step towards her bed and was clearly of the opinion that visits at three in the morning were completely normal.

'About what?' Ruby had asked. Sherlock had gone into a monologue about how his informant or "the knower of all names" had fled the country, making Sherlock question the reliability of the information concerning the serial killer's whereabouts this coming Monday. 'Can't we just follow Leo Shannon when he leaves the station? Won't the serial killer try to kill him?' Ruby had questioned.

'Two lazy police officers won't be able to stop our serial killer before he axes Mr Shannon. He's helped us before, given us a clue when you were in the room with him. You need to talk with him once again; he'll be wanting a lawyer when you're there as Lestrade has already made him the offer of no prison sentence if he hands over this serial killer. What Lestrade fails to understand is Mr Shannon's overall goal from this investigation. We catch the serial killer from hints dropped by him but he is _not_ our snitch. This preserves his reputation when he is released into the criminal world and he'll fill the vacuum left by this Jesus character. A very tidy plan indeed, he has no need to flee the country, Mr Shannon can remain here.'

'What about his prison sentence?'

'What prison sentence? The Braxton twins will take the hit on this and Mr Shannon will walk free. He knows the police are grasping at straws when they offered him that deal.'

'It was _your_ idea.' Sherlock had sharply glared at her, his nostrils flared in a curiously equestrian manner.

'Talk to Mr Shannon.' He'd ordered as he left the room. When she'd woken up that morning, she'd entirely forgotten about the exchange until Jahmene had made some offhand remark about how rude it was of Sherlock to call Molly and barge into his morgue at three in the morning in order to analyse a body.

She slammed the door of her taxi shut and after hobbling up the entrance to the station, she received something akin to a hero's welcome upon re-entering homicide. She smiled tiredly at her colleagues before demanding to know where Lestrade was keeping the two scumbags who'd landed her in hospital in the first place. Interview room B was where they were being questioned. She edged her way towards the room, rejecting a few of the offers to lean on some of the men's arms, preferring to get there in her own stubborn way. She didn't enter the interview room immediately, only the viewing room where Donovan, Sherlock and an exhausted looking John greeted her.

'Bet those two muppets didn't know what hit em when they tried to take you on.' Donovan said with a toothy grin, rising and slapping Ruby on the arm in what most would call a manly welcome. 'I haven't seen Lestrade this worked up about a case in a long-while; he's been grilling them non-stop since they were brought in.' She nodded towards the glass where Lestrade was sitting opposite the two men who were already wearing orange jumpsuits. Lestrade had his arms folded across his chest and was glaring daggers across the room at the two silent criminals, daring one of them to request a lawyer, or to ask for a phone call. Ruby was touched by the loyalty demonstrated by her superior. Maybe he wasn't as hopeless as she'd previously thought.

'You've been in the wars this past week haven't you? First what happened at 221b last week and then being attacked by these two scoundrels… How're you feeling?' John's voice was caring and sincere despite his obvious lack of sleep.

'I'm fine, flying high on pain meds. You on the other hand look like you could get some shut-eye.' Ruby commented as John stifled a massive yawn.

'What about you freak? Ain't you gonna ask about Ruby's welfare?' Donovan's glare was even more challenging than usual. Sherlock glanced in Ruby's direction before returning his gaze to the two silent men. 'Oi, freak. I asked you a question.'

'I'm perfectly aware of what you asked me, Donovan. Unlike you, I'm not here to ask the same dull question which the entire police force has shoved down her throat since entering the building. Physically, she'll recover from the encounter within two weeks, her cracked ribs were well taken-care of in St Bart's. Mentally? She'll probably take less walks alone in the dark.' He said coldly, igniting the wrath of Donovan's short temper. 'As I already stated; I'm not here to ask Detective Smith of her well-being. I'm here to interrogate Leo Shannon whenever Lestrade decides he's had enough of glaring at these two morons.'

'You _psychotic_ little –'

'Donovan?' Ruby smoothly interjected. She stumbled in the middle of her rant and looked at Ruby with large, bewildered eyes. 'Could you do me a favour?' She made sure her voice adopted a shy, fragile quality, the best way to disarm someone about to idiotically defend you.

'Sure.' Donovan replied.

'Uh… could you get me some coffee? I'd go myself but I don't think I can make the walk.' Ruby clutched the right side of her ribcage for dramatic effect.

'Yeah, yeah. No bother. Milk, no sugar; right?' She asked, completely disorientated by the request.

'Thanks, sarge.' Ruby said while allowing a smile to tug at her lips. It quickly disappeared as Donovan reluctantly left the room. Ruby didn't want Donovan to embark on a scathing description of Sherlock's lack of empathy, not when he'd been so brilliant at helping her to conceal her wealthy background. She owed him and though such a debt couldn't be paid through steering Donovan's bullying rants elsewhere, it was at least a start. 'Oh God.' Ruby proclaimed as a frown pulled at her forehead. 'You know too.' She nodded in John's direction.

'Sorry… I know what exactly?'

'Where I live.' Ruby said shortly.

'Oh. That. Yes, you happen to be _quite_ wealthy despite your casual appearance. And I'm also aware of how you and Sherlock transported the men to an alleyway beside your place of residence.' Ruby glared at Sherlock who smirked slightly.

'You have no need to worry detective; John here is foolishly loyal. He won't be telling anyone.'

'Um, _foolishly_ loyal?' John snapped. 'If it weren't for my loyalty, we wouldn't have a friendship! I'd have been gone years ago…' He sighed, sinking slightly further down his hard chair and doing his best to remain awake. Ruby found the idea of these two men knowing such intimate, private details of her life very uncomfortable. The only other person apart from the hotel staff who knew of her expensive apartment was her best friend; Jahmene.

'How long has Lestrade been in there?' Ruby asked, realising her boss was still glaring angrily at the two ruffians.

'Too long.' Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

'And why exactly are we waiting for an audience with Leo Shannon?' John asked woozily.

'To figure out the address of our gang leader; Jesus if you will, and where exactly he hid the drugs. And the money of course.'

'_Drugs_?' John asked, startling awake from his sleep.

'What _money_?' Ruby asked. Sherlock glanced at the two members of his audience before sighing dramatically, secretly happy that once again he had deduced something beyond them.

'We've already agreed that the killings were as a result of betrayal, no? So what do gangs usually betray each other for? All together now:'

'Money and drugs.' John said dutifully.

'_Exactly_. In this case both were used hence the dramatic execution of each member of the operation. Seeing as Leo is the only one left of the ferocious four who dared double cross their leader, he knows the location of these two commodities. And he knows how to find Jesus.' Sherlock added nonchalantly.

'What kind of drugs are we talking here? Class C? B?'

'Aim higher detective. Class A. And a sizeable amount of cash which would interest four separate drug dealers to overthrow their drug lord and set up a new life in some exotic land, never to be seen or heard of again.' Sherlock finished triumphantly. At that moment, Donovan returned with Ruby's coffee which she accepted gratefully before asking if she could grab Lestrade for her. Two minutes later, the Detective Inspector strode into the room, a fatherly sort of expression adorning his features when he looked at his youngest, injured detective.

'How're you doing, Smith?'

'Been better, not going to lie.' Ruby said with the same, shy smile she'd used on Donovan.

'Sherlock, you're still here? I thought I told you to go home!' Lestrade boomed. 'Why's he still here?' He asked Donovan pointedly.

'He wouldn't leave, said he had some important business to discuss with you.' She sneered, enjoying the rare occasion Lestrade showed his open annoyance at Sherlock's presence.

'I know what _business _he wishes to discuss with me and I've already told him, no. He's not a police officer, he can't be questioning Mr Shannon when he doesn't have a lawyer present; it's too risky. Not to mention worthless, we've already conducted a search of his house and imagine our surprise when we found no drugs or a stash of cash.'

'Then you obviously missed it.' Sherlock's reply was glazed with ice.

'I want you out of my station. Now.' Lestrade's eyes were still burning from conducting the silent interview.

'Lestrade?' Ruby asked, once more looking to disarm his anger through vulnerability.

'Yes Smith?' His eyes were still locked on Sherlock.

'I don't think it's a waste of time.'

'_What_?' He asked incredulously, rounding on the red-haired detective.

'I think we should talk to Mr Shannon again –'

'Look Smith, you're not thinking straight. You've had a rough couple of days –'

'Don't you _dare _dismiss my opinion because I've put my body on the line for this case.' Ruby's change in tone was almost bipolar. 'In case you've forgotten, my head wasn't injured during the attack meaning my cognitive processes remain unaffected. My thinking is clear and my logic is sound when I say we should talk with Mr Shannon. If for nothing else Lestrade, to gain some clue as to why these men with tattoos on their thumbnails tried to do God knows what to me. I appreciate your anger as you've so thoroughly demonstrated over the past hour in the interview room but utilise it in a smarter way. _This_ is a smarter way!' Ruby argued, her eyes flashing in the dim light. Lestrade looked taken aback by the outburst from his youngest officer; it was a rare thing for a subordinate to question his judgement. The red-haired detective was pushing her luck to the maximum, taking advantage of the sympathy her superiors held for her in light of recent events.

'Alright. I'll get them to bring Mr Shannon up.' He said quietly, exiting out of the door with Donovan following, doing her utmost to make him reverse his decision. Ruby turned a hard stare on Sherlock Holmes.

'You better be right about this.' She snarled.

'Of course I'm right.' He said pompously. 'Make sure to be listening to any information he might tell you.' Ruby hobbled out of the room and entered the interview chamber which had been vacated of its two, silent thugs. She sat down and placed her hands flat on the table, impatiently awaiting the arrival of Mr Shannon.

* * *

**Where oh where is this serial killer?**


	13. Chapter 13

**An Unexpected Gesture**

Unlike the two men who had tried to attack Ruby, Leo Shannon wasn't wearing an orange jumpsuit; he was still wearing his normal clothes. He looked tired but this didn't diminish his physical beauty, the dark circles beneath his eyes only serving to enhance his well-made features. As Ruby's eyes scanned his figure, she wondered why Leo would have used his only phone call to send a warning to Sherlock about the baseball bat having a tracking device. What was his motivation behind such an unorthodox action?

'Are you going to be asking me any questions "Detective Red" or is this some form of staring contest?' Leo asked with a toothy grin.

'How do you know that nickname?'

'The coppers down in the holding cells have big mouths.'

'Then I'm sure you know exactly what happened for me to earn such a title.' Leo ran a hand through his hair, suiting the windswept appearance which would make most men look ridiculous.

'You were jumped in an alleyway by two men, kicked three times in the ribcage followed by managing to defend yourself with a dustbin lid.' He recited. 'It's a shame you weren't warned of such an attack.' His voice was nonchalant though his eyes flashed at his words.

'Even if it were possible to be warned, I wouldn't be surprised if such a warning was late. A nice idea though, I'll jot that down beneath the heading: "what would happen in an ideal world." in my notepad here.' Despite the sarcastic tone, both sides had received the implied messages.

'So Ruby, mind if I ask why you've dragged me out of my holding cell? I sit because I' being released today and you couldn't bear the thought of me leaving without saying goodbye?' Ruby placed her elbows on the table, interlaced her fingers together and rested the intertwined ensemble against her upper lip.

'Would you mind if I laid some basic facts out for you?' Ruby asked.

'Whatever makes you happy detective.'

'Three people have died so far. All with an axe wound to their back, all have had their thumbs removed post-mortem. One of them, the latest victim, he was missing his head. I had to trawl the bed of the Thames to find it. These three people, we managed to link them together as being part of the same gang, a gang which places a tattoo of "loyalty" onto the thumbnails of its members.' Leo's thumbs twitched at this. 'So, what did these three members do in order to be so humiliatingly expelled from this gang? Well, judging from the symbol we found at the scene of the second body, a betrayal happened. Now, what is the number one cause for betrayal in gangs I hear you ask? Drugs and money. These commodities… you claim to have no idea where they are. In fact you deny their existence or being a member of such a gang whose leader would demand his employees to receive tattoos. The contents of your house provides no evidence to contradict this statement. You also claim to have never met the Braxton twins or know of their existence.'

'And have they said they know me?' He interrupted.

'Stoically silent the two of them, they haven't said anything.' Leo's frame visibly relaxed in his chair, he knew he didn't have anything to worry about with concerns to being linked to the attempt on Sherlock's life.

'I also know that you're the next one to be murdered by our serial killer.' Ruby said casually, liking the way her words reintroduced the tension into Leo's body.

'Oh yeah?' He asked, doing a very good job at keeping a carefree dynamic to his voice.

'Yes Leo. I also know that despite you being in danger of losing your thumbs, you won't help us to catch this guy as being branded as a snitch is a greater concern of yours compared with death. I presume you want the lawyer so he can note on his record that you were offered a police deal which you declined, retaining your reputation when you leave the station.'

'My life won't be worth living if I act as a snitch for you lot. The probability of the South London Police being able to protect me is _so_ low; you might as well be offering me the chance to turn into Paddington Bear.'

'Is that everything you want to say Leo?'

'Yes.' Leo said with a small smile, his eyes twinkling in the harsh light.

'Alright, I'll get you a lawyer.' Ruby said before slowly pushing herself to her feet. She hobbled over to the side of the chamber and just as her hand rested on the door knob; Leo's lilting voice chased after her.

'Look after yourself Detective Red. It seems the only person you can rely on these days is yourself.' Frowning, Ruby pushed the door open and gingerly made her way into the viewing room where she gratefully took a chair.

'Well, that wasn't exactly an _informative_ interview –' Donovan began.

'You were right sarge. It was pointless.' Ruby murmured. Donovan twirled a strand of hair around her finger before rising and leaving the room, presumably to enquire about Leo's lawyer. 'Remind me again why we can't follow Leo Shannon when he gets out of here? If you're right and he's the next one in line to be killed, he'll lead us straight to our serial killer. We wouldn't need him on our side.' Ruby pointed out.

'Avoidable blood will be shed if we let him leave without agreeing a deal with him.' Sherlock collapsed into silence, his eyes closing as he tried to think of a new way to convince the troublesome Mr Shannon to tell him what he knew.

Thirty minutes later, a rumpled looking lawyer barged into the interview room and hurriedly began a conference with his client. Lestrade and Donovan walked in some five minutes later and began proceedings for it to be noted on record that Leo Shannon wasn't accepting any deal from the police.

'It was a bit of a strange analysis wasn't it? Paddington Bear?' John asked the room at large. 'Not exactly what one thinks of when trying to describe an impossible scenario…' His voice trailed away when he realised how unhelpful his comment was. A full minute later, Sherlock slowly raised his head, his eyes wide as something John had said slotted into place, prompting an idea.

'Yes John… it _was_ strange. Not to mention old-fashioned and out of date.' His head turned to the slumped form of Leo Shannon in the interview room and a smile pulled at his lips. 'Hmm…'

'Yes I know it was a stupid statement, no need to make fun.' John said huffily.

'No John, it wasn't. Mr Shannon…he just gave us our serial killer's address.' Sherlock proclaimed, springing to his feet in one fluid movement.

'_What_?' Ruby snapped.

'_Paddington Bear_. It's just like him telling us his leader's pseudonym was Jesus! It's a clue! Of all the things he could have used for the analogy, he used a bear. A bear who lives at a particular address in London.' Sherlock's face had adopted a manic grin. '32 Windsor Gardens. _That's_ our killer's address.' Sherlock finished, leaving Ruby and John flabbergasted by his epiphany.

'He's being our snitch… _without_ being our snitch?' John asked incredulously.

Sherlock furiously tapped at his screen, a smile lighting his features as he found what he was searching for. 'Oh hello, owner and sole resident of 32 Windsor Gardens.' Sherlock murmured, turning the phone around to reveal a picture of someone Ruby found to her astonishment, she recognised. The short figure, the mad blue eyes, the shaved head and the delicately refined moustache all belonged to someone Ruby had previously met on a weekly basis.

'Oh my… Sherlock that's–'

'Yes Ruby; Danny Cleary. The very man who allowed our paths to cross all of those months ago.'

'Wait, _what_? You two have known each other for _months_?' John asked.

Sherlock didn't answer John's question, he approached the one-way mirror and harshly knocked on its surface. This attracted the attention of all members of the group and soon Lestrade and Donovan had hurtled out of the interview room to see what was going on.

'Sherlock, I _knew _it was you, what the bloody hell do you think you're playing at?' Donovan snarled, flinging the door shut behind her.

'Has Mr Shannon had it noted that he won't be our snitch?' Sherlock asked.

'Yes, but I don't see how – '

'Shut up Lestrade, your serial killer is at 32 Windsor Gardens and his name is Danny Cleary.'

'_What_? But how the _hell_ –'

'Would you like me to squash my explanation down to your meagre IQ level or shall we go and catch this murderer before he slips through our fingers?' Sherlock expostulated. Lestrade glared daggers at the consulting detective before turning on his heel, addressing homicide in a loud voice.

'ALRIGHT! Listen up everyone, our serial killer's name is Danny Cleary and he's currently at 32 Windsor Gardens.' A thunderstruck silence met his words. 'Well what are you lot waiting for? LET'S GO!' He roared. Homicide was suddenly a blur of movement as officers dashed out of the room and headed for the stairs. Ruby followed as quickly as her cracked ribs allowed, eventually shutting the door behind her of Donovan's car. Donovan was once more at the wheel; on transmit to a nervous looking Lestrade who was tapping his hands against his thighs.

'All I'm saying sir is how did he manage to figure out the killer's address from what Leo Shannon said? We both watched when Ruby was in there interviewing him, he said nuffin about 32 Windsor Gardens or a Danny Cleary.'

'Yeah… but he's Sherlock isn't he?' Lestrade said vaguely. 'Ruby, you were in the room with him when he figured it out. Any idea how he managed it?' Ruby quickly relayed the consulting detective's epiphany which was met with a chuckle from Lestrade and a stony silence from Donovan. 'So Leo Shannon was trying to help us after all, even if it was in the most backward way I've ever seen.' Lestrade said.

'It seems that way.' Ruby said quietly, her gaze rooted to the window. Another ten minutes later, Donovan's car slowed outside of Danny Cleary's house just as half a dozen other police cars pulled up beside them, blocking both ends of the road. Unsheathing guns, Donovan and Lestrade leapt from the car but not before Lestrade had ordered Ruby to stay behind.

'_What_? But sir –'

'That's an order Smith! You've been through enough already; we don't want you getting hurt again.' Lestrade said roughly as he slammed the car door. Ruby's eyes blazed with frustration and anger, how _dare _he ban her from being a part of this? Catching Danny Cleary and slapping the bracelets on his wrists was a moment she wanted to remember forever and Lestrade had rudely taken it away. Ruby watched as two officers knocked down the door and hurriedly entered the large, Georgian house. Her rage intensified as the last officer disappeared into Danny Cleary's house. She still couldn't believe he was the killer, in her time at _The Flamingo_ she must have given him at least twenty lap dances.

The rest of the street contained the same Georgian houses, each with a red brick front, three storeys in height, a flat roof but no basement. Ruby's eyes traced around the corner of the building of 32 Windsor Gardens, her eyes landing on something peculiar at the side of the building. She frowned for a moment and blinked, thinking it was a trick of the light. She glanced at the neighbouring house of 32 Windsor Gardens but found it lacking this oddity. After returning her attention to the side of Danny Cleary's building, she became convinced she wasn't seeing things. She got out of the car and as quickly as she could, approached the building adjacent to Danny Cleary's house. She knocked smartly on the door and fumbled for her police badge. An elderly man answered the door, his eyes widening upon seeing the mass of police cars providing Ruby with an intimidating background.

'I'm telling you, I didn't do nothin' wrong! The marijuana, it's for medicinal purposes!' The man blustered. Ruby blinked slowly before remembering her original reason for knocking on this man's door.

'I'm not here for that.' Ruby said uncertainly. 'I'm detective Smith, do you mind if I take a quick look around your house and ask a few questions about the structure of this building? It might be crucial for the case I'm working at the moment.' She said importantly.

'By all means detective, come in, come in!' He closed the door after her. 'I'm Alexander Woods but please, call me Alex. How can I help?' He seemed eager to wipe any thoughts of illegal marijuana from Ruby's mind.

'How long have you lived here Alex?' Ruby asked while walking down the lengthy hallway.

'Oh about twenty years now.'

'And do you have a basement Alex? I don't see a door leading down to one here.'

'These old houses originally had basements but there was so much trouble with the drains and with _rats _that by order of the council, they were filled with cement.'

'The entire road was asked to do this?'

'Why yes, finished the last house, number 32 just nine months ago I'd say.'

'Really?' Ruby's eyes were shining at this fact. 'Thank you Alex, you've been a wonderful help.' And without saying another word, Ruby quickly left the house, slamming the door behind her as she rounded on number 32. Mr Cleary may have had the door to the basement removed inside his house as Alex had – but that didn't mean his was filled with cement. Ruby popped up the stairs of number 32 and entered the house which was being turned upside down in search of its owner. Ruby darted around the rooms as fast as she could, looking for the one person who would know how to find a secret basement in a Georgian house. She found him pacing furiously in the lounge with only John for company. 'Sherlock!' Ruby said sharply.

'I don't need to be distracted right now Ruby, your questions are only going to slow my thoughts which run at a _much _faster pace than yours!' Sherlock snarled, beginning his pacing again.

'Sherlock, there's a basement – there has to be.' Sherlock paused in his pacing and looked at Ruby curiously.

'_Has_ to be?'

'I asked the neighbours, all of the basements on this street have been filled with concrete by order of the council due to drainage issues. Danny Cleary wouldn't have sacrificed the opportunity of having a secret basement at his disposal –'

'So he bribed the council official who said the job was done and retained a secret room.' Sherlock finished, his eyes shining as he realised the chase was still on. He began pacing again, his footsteps muffled by the expensive carpet spread in front of the marble fireplace. 'A basement… where would he keep the entrance? Outside? No, far too risky, someone from the public might see… then _where_?' Ruby and John watched him for a moment until he paused, a dreamy look taking over his features as the epiphany embraced his mind in its familiar arms. 'Oh… how _very _old-fashioned.' Sherlock said with a shake of his head. He then hopped off the carpet and with an unceremonious tug, dragged the Persian commodity from the floor, revealing a trapdoor. 'Gun at the ready John!' Sherlock said cheerfully as he withdrew his own firearm from the depths of his coat. He tugged at the trapdoor and opened the secret door, revealing not a wall of cement, but a pit of inky blackness. Using the light from his phone, Sherlock proceeded down the stairs with John at his heels. Ruby withdrew her own gun, something which she had promised while lying on a bed in St Bart's that she would never again leave the station without, and hurried after the two figures disappearing into the darkness. Copying Sherlock, Ruby used the flash from her phone to illuminate a path ahead of her, momentarily cutting through the oppressive blackness. 'Ah I was right. Meth.' Sherlock murmured, his torch shining over a long workbench littered with boiling flasks, Bunsen burners, plastic stacks of containers filled with unlabelled chemicals…

'How did you know it was going to be _meth_?' Ruby asked quietly.

'Didn't you notice the state of Jackie Braxton's teeth when he paid us a visit in 221b? Clearly a meth addict. But his appearance didn't command the desperate appearance of a normal addict, he worked for a supplier. Mr Shannon was a level up in this industry but he was in charge of distribution, not of supplying… it seems Mr Cleary uses his basement not only as a storage unit, but as a place to "cook" too. And what an unprofessional lab to work in.' Sherlock murmured, a smug smile pulling at his lips.

'Looks mightily similar to our kitchen table at home.' John whispered, depleting Sherlock's smile slightly. The consulting detective continued to scout around the edges of the basement, eventually deeming it to be clear. Danny Cleary wasn't down here. Ruby found over the homemade meth lab, a series of clear jars with something floating around in each container. She brought the light of her phone closer but reeled back so quickly she whacked into Sherlock. She quickly stepped away from, ignoring his disapproving look.

'They're only thumbs detective.' Sherlock said deploringly upon shining his torch at the three jars where unquestionable proof of Mr Cleary's guilt bobbed innocently in some murky looking liquid. In each container, there were two thumbs, a black spiral inked onto each of the thumbnails. A fourth pot stood innocently to the side, awaiting the pair of thumbs which were supposed to be provided by Leo Shannon. Sherlock did however; find a massive sports bag bursting with money and an equally large bag containing what meth addicts would give absolutely anything to get their hands on. About forty different plastic bags were inside and Sherlock slowly raised one up, weighing it for a moment in his gloved hand.

'This roughly weighs a pound meaning there's around forty pounds in here. Not of the greatest quality but it will provide some sort of hit for the addicts who would have bought it.'

'How can you tell it's not good quality?' Ruby was becoming mightily suspicious of Sherlock's knowledge of class A substances.

'Methamphetamine in its purest form provides a translucent, glass-like quality. This as you can see, is murky and the crystals which formed are not of any sizeable nature.' He dropped the pound of meth back into the bag where it landed with a _crunch_. 'It's basic chemistry.' He said after noticing her features contract in a wary frown.

'The kind you could apply to your chemistry set in your kitchen.' Ruby's voice was deadly quiet.

'Does my flat smell _anything _like this basement?' Sherlock demanded, his offensive outburst taking Ruby by surprise.

'No –'

'Of _course_ it doesn't because I don't cook methamphetamine!' Sherlock raged, clicking the safety trigger on his gun before returning it to his pocket.

'It was just an observation.' Ruby muttered while also returning her firearm to its holster.

'No, what you made was a malformed accusation.' Sherlock spat.

'Look, it's not my fault that Danny Cleary isn't down here, so don't go venting your anger –' But Ruby never managed to finish her sentence. Sherlock grabbed her shoulders and threw his weight to the side, dragging Ruby with him while an object _whooshed _past where her body had been only moments previously. She collided with the hard, concrete floor and her ribcage seemed to split open with pain, blurring her vision as she rolled onto her back. A high pitched ringing in her ears made listening impossible and lying on her back, she could vaguely discern a shining object hurtling towards her, the light of her fallen phone illuminating the biting form of an axe head.

_Roll over. Roll over Ruby! __**RUBY!**__ ROLL YOUR BODY __AWAY__ FROM THE AXE!____**RUBY**__**!**_

Her thoughts couldn't make her muscles obey until the last possible moment. She managed to somehow force her body to move, rolling away from the determined destination of the axe and finding a temporary sanctuary beneath the workbench supporting the meth lab. There was a sharp _crack _as the axe connected with the cement. Ruby tried to remember what had happened to Sherlock and John. Were they…?

_Can't think about that._

She firmly shut off any thoughts of panic and looked to loosen her gun from the holster around her waist. Her hand quickly grasped the smooth handle and she yanked it from her waist, clicking off the safety trigger in one smooth movement. Doing her best to ignore the sensation only broken bones could provide, Ruby peered out from beneath the meth lab and a sickening sight presented itself. Someone had turned on the lights since she'd fallen, illuminating her assailant's small form. Danny Cleary was standing over the fallen figure of Sherlock Holmes, the axe raised menacingly above his head, Sherlock's gun lying at least five feet from his limp hand. Ruby tried to aim her gun in the general direction of Danny Cleary but as she extended her arm, a blinding white hot pain shot through her ribs, making her almost drop her own weapon. She lay exhausted and weakened on the ground, watching the inevitable fall of the axe as it began to swish through the air.

'GET AWAY FROM HIM!' Roared a voice as a small, blurred figure collided with Danny Cleary, wrestling with the handle of the axe in an all-consuming fury. After blinking a few times, Ruby realised it was John Watson fighting with the man, eventually managing to rip the axe from his grasp and fling into a dark corner. 'HANDS IN THE AIR!" John roared, clicking the safety trigger off his gun and aiming it at Danny's menacing figure with an unnervingly steady hand. "Are you deaf? I SAID HANDS IN THE AIR!" Danny's hands jumped into the air, the military tone in John's voice demanding complete obedience.

'Look, let's just talk about –' John aimed the revolver at an old mattress and released a bullet into it. Ruby flinched at the sound but understood the logic behind it; such a loud noise would attract the attention of the twenty or so officers prowling around the house above. Less than thirty seconds later, footsteps came thundering down the staircase with Lestrade and Donovan leading the charge, each holding a gun.

'Danny Cleary! I'm arresting you on suspicion of multiple homicides. You do not have to say anything…' Lestrade's triumphant voice faded into the background as John dropped his firearm and tended to his best friend who was still out cold. No-one apart from John noticed Ruby lying on the ground beneath the table.

'John, is he –'

'He's just unconscious Ruby; he should be coming round and annoying the hell out of us in a bit.' John said with a small smile after checking Sherlock's pulse and assessing the extent of his head injury which had congealed the front of his hair with a small amount of blood. The doctor was oblivious to the formal arrest and removal of Danny Cleary as he checked his friend over.

'Is the freak alright?' Ruby could hear Donovan's voice float over from the door after the footsteps had hurried out of the basement.

'Yes, thank you Donovan he'll be fine. I think Ruby on the other hand needs an ambulance, I'm pretty sure she's completely broken at least _one_ of her cracked ribs.' John said as he tenderly assessed Ruby's injury.

'Detective Smith? But she's out in the car…' Her voice trailed away when she noticed Ruby's sprawled figure hiding beneath the meth lab. 'Smith? You alright?' She sounded genuinely concerned as she got down on her hands and knees beside Ruby. 'Bloody hell Smith, what happened to you?'

'I should be dead.' Ruby murmured; her vision completely cleared and the ringing in her ears almost forgotten. 'I shouldn't be alive.'

'Well why else did Lestrade say you should stay in the car?' Donovan said easily, her tone lacking any sort of bossy manner. 'And you are alive, very much so. If you don't believe me, press down on your ribcage, the pain'll convince you if I don't.' She took out her phone and sighed exasperatedly. 'Christ, there's no signal here. I'll have to go upstairs. Don't do nuffin stupid while I'm gone!' She said warningly before standing up and making her way out of the basement.

'You're right.' John murmured as Donovan's footsteps faded away. 'You shouldn't be alive. You couldn't see what was happening, Danny Cleary was right behind you, axe raised – God knows where he came from. But you must understand Ruby, if that axe had connected; I'd be trying my best to reattach your head to your body so you could have an open casket at your funeral.' John's words were heavy as he muttered them, stamping their meaning deeply into Ruby's mind. 'It's just as well it takes more than an axe wielding maniac to stop me from saving Sherlock's life.' John said with a disbelieving shake of his head.

'You're so loyal.' Ruby managed to murmur.

'_Stupidly_ loyal.' John corrected. 'I could have an axe buried in my chest right now and be bleeding out on the floor.' He sighed before returning his attentions to his best friend.

'You're sure he'll be alright?' Ruby managed to croak, it was becoming more painful to breath.

'He'll be fine. Now stop trying to speak, those ribs aren't going to be happy unless you take a vow of silence until they've been taken care of.'

* * *

It was Friday and the office party in celebration of gaining a confirmed trial date for their serial killer was well underway. The usually bossy and tightly wound officers of homicide were beginning to relax and enjoy the success of the case. Ruby had been taped up good and well at St Bart's though she still experienced a stab of pain every time she took too deep a breath. Her ribs would heal after about six weeks of rest but even the large bruise on her ribcage couldn't put a damper on proceedings. Earlier that day she'd been able to inform little Benicio that she'd managed to catch the man who'd murdered his mother. He had hugged her, undoubtedly the most painful hug of her lifetime but one which she had gladly put up with. It was these little gestures like these which made cases worthwhile, a painful hug, closure for the little boy who had put so much blind faith in her. Even the press were singing the police's praises and the spirit of homicide had been so generous, they'd bought a present for their favourite consulting detective. Ruby snorted into her paper cup as Lestrade presented Sherlock with a Paddington Bear but had removed the original hat and replaced it with a deer-stalker instead. The office got a good laugh from Sherlock's look of obvious disgust and Ruby wondered how exactly he would destroy the poor toy when he returned to Bakerstreet. John was talking amicably among the officers who were undoubtedly quizzing on his latest blog-post. He'd tastefully titled it "The Thumb Thief" and it was set to be one of his most popular cases to date.

She glanced at her watch before slowly negotiating her way out of the comfortable confines of her chair and headed towards the elevator. She pressed the down button and after a few minutes of slow walking, she found herself outside of the station, leaning against the outside of the wall and fumbling in her pocket for her cigar case. She withdrew the treasure cigarette and lighter but waited, she was after all early. Two minutes early to be exact. She carefully unwound the earphones from her mp4 and flicked to a soothing nocturne by Chopin, allowing the music to pour delightfully into her ears. She felt the alarm on her phone go off and hurriedly dismissed it, raising the cigarette to her lips and lighting its end. Unfortunately, she couldn't inhale the fumes as her broken ribs wouldn't allow such an expansion of her lungs but as she lowered the cigarette, she was startled by the tall figure leaning against the wall beside her. She shouldn't have been surprised; this was the only opportunity Sherlock Holmes had for gaining any second-hand smoke throughout the week. He'd probably follow her into a volcano at 9:33 pm on a Friday.

She eventually stubbed the cigarette on the ground and placed her mp4 back in her bag. 'Waste of a cigarette.' Sherlock remarked; staring at the place Ruby had dropped the cigarette butt.

'I have broken ribs, remember?'

'Still a waste.' Ruby shoved her hands into the depths of her pockets, wondering what words she should pick to best describe her feelings. She hadn't seen or spoken with him since being knocked unconscious in Danny Cleary's basement on Monday.

'Listen… what you did on Monday –'

'Remind me again what I did?' Sherlock's face was annoyingly innocent. Ruby took a deep breath – an action she quickly regretted – and spat out the stodgy words.

'You saved my life.' Those awful, sticky words created a phrase used by damsels in distress and Ruby loathed to think of herself portrayed in that fashion. 'According to John, I wouldn't have a head right now if you hadn't reacted as quickly as you did.' Ruby's hands coiled into fists, a gesture which did not go unmissed by the dark haired detective.

'You absolutely _hate_ having to say that.'

'Fine! I owe you. And I don't mean owing you because you lied to Lestrade about my wealthy background; this is _more. _This is _debt_.'

'You do have a strange thing about being even at all costs, yet you accept money from your parents.' Sherlock noted.

'It's their way of trying to make up for what they did.' Ruby spat, her anger forcing her to reveal more than she would have normally intended.

'And what exactly did they do?'

'Sherlock… don't. Just _don't_.' Ruby snarled. 'I'm _trying _to thank you and now I'm verging on morphing into a raging beast!' She blustered, not realising her outburst was entertaining Sherlock greatly. Her anger quickly deflated once she noted Sherlock's bemused expression and she shook her head in disbelief at her messed up thank you. 'You'll have to excuse my bipolar nature today, I blame my medication.'

'Yes, because you need _medication_ to have mood swings.'

'Shut up Sherlock.'

'This really is the most offensive thank you I've ever received.' He drawled while pulling on his leather gloves with loving care. Ruby chewed on the side of her thumb as she watched the detective for a moment, wondering what she should do.

'Make yourself less tall.' She suddenly demanded.

'What?'

'Less tall.'

'Why, so it'll make it easier for you to slap me?'

'If you haven't deduced the reason already, then hurry up and make yourself shorter.' Sherlock frowned before glancing up and down the deserted car park, his thoughts whizzing through millions of possibilities. He then slowly bent his knees so his height was more or less the same as Ruby's.

'And…?' He asked impatiently, feeling ludicrous in his crouched position.

'Sherlock Holmes, you stopped an axe beheading me on Monday by a crazy guy who decided to call himself Jesus and make the members of his gang get thumbnail tattoos. Here's a token of my gratitude.' Ruby moved quickly before Sherlock could understand what was going on and pressed her lips for one second against his cheek. It was cold and hard, her kiss having landed on his prominent cheekbone. Just as she expected, he jerked back from her touch, rapidly returning to his normal height. '_Don't_ belittle me when I'm saying thank you.' Ruby said, her voice dangerously quiet, making no show of hiding her pleasure at startling the detective. She gave him a devilish smile before turning and walking back towards the entrance of the station. 'I look forward to catching the next serial killer with you Sherlock Holmes!' She causally tossed the remark over her shoulder where it landed at the consulting detective's feet.

Sherlock was too bewildered by the unexpected gesture to think of a retort.

* * *

**Here ends Case One: The Thumb Thief. Stay tuned for Case Two: The Mastercard which will be published as a continuation of this story. Thank you so much for your reviews, follows and favourites, the support has been so unexpected.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Here begins Case Two. I hope you like this case as much as the previous one!**

* * *

**Case Two: The Mastercard**

* * *

**Painfully Obvious **

'Ruby, are you alright? You look distracted.' Ruby slowly blinked before reluctantly dragging her attention back to the conversation at hand. She stared at the man sitting across from her, registering the look of polite concern pulling at what most would call handsome features. Alright maybe handsome was pushing it… handsom_ish _then?

'Sorry Francis… it's just the case I'm working at the moment.' She muttered, dropping her eyes to her cold coffee and stirring the dregs half-heartedly. 'It's been very time-consuming.'

'Oh that's right; Jahmene said you were some hot-shot detective!'

_Yes and my best friend also told me I'd like you. It seems we can't trust everything dear Jahmene says…_

'Do you think I'm a rookie officer who's been promoted too soon?' Ruby challenged, wishing Francis had meant the remark in an offensive manner. The conversation might pick up if he'd implied she was promoted before her time.

'What? Oh no, _God _no I didn't mean to offend you or anything! No no no, I'm sure you earned your detective badge through very hard – and very honest – work. Not that your work wouldn't be honest, you strike me as someone who wouldn't sleep around to gain a promotion…' Francis' voice trailed off as Ruby watched that particular line of conversation crash and burn at the centre of the table. She was just wondering whether she should stand up, turn around and leave without saying goodbye when Francis began searching for a waiter. He began jabbering away to the poor sod who had to take his order, an especially arduous task as Francis held a decisively irritating voice with a disgustingly nasal dimension. Ruby's gaze was rooted to the material covering their table and she began counting (for the fifteenth time) the amount of squares on the chequered tablecloth.

_Oh God… WHY can't I tell him I'm simply not interested in his boring, golf-swinging, meticulously-gelled-hair personality and cancel this "date"? I'd rather be finishing that horrendous stack of paperwork threatening to consume my desk at the station than prolong this encounter…_

Even the word "date" made her skin crawl, she loathed the word (with the exception of the fruit of course) she felt it was her duty to emphasise said word with quotation marks regardless of the occasion. In truth, Ruby was on this "date" in order to silence her best friend's mutterings concerning her love life after returning from undercover work some six months previously. Jahmene's naggings had included "The best way to regain a sense of normalcy is obviously through a relationship" or "I have this friend of a friend who just _loves_ redheads." and of course the main motivation for Ruby's presence in this supposedly dainty café: "If you don't give this man a chance, I'll stop making you coffee." And if there was one thing which Ruby couldn't do without of late, it was the sensual coffee which her best friend and all of his barista courses made after their gym practise early in the morning.

_Oh God, is Francis planning on keeping me here by ordering us more coffee? _Ruby thought glumly as Francis did his best to place a new order._ I've been sat here for arguably the longest thirty minutes of my life; I think I've suffered enough!_ She finished her counting and concluded that her eyes were not deceiving her: there were undoubtedly thirty seven different squares on the tablecloth.

'I _beg _your pardon?' Francis suddenly blustered at their waiter, his tone rising in a curiously female manner as he conveyed his outrage.

'I can hardly say I'm surprised but it appears you're as deaf as you are stupid.' Ruby paused in her observation of the sugar bowl as a familiar voice delicately phrased the insult. 'What I _said_ was you're a boring, ordinary little man, whose obviously a sex addict judging by your remarkably eager gaze which keeps darting to your bored companion's bosom – although I'm sure your excuse for such a poorly concealed action was to compliment her on the delicate chain which hangs low around her neck. And let's not forget the incident where you deliberately dropped your fork on the ground in order to peer beneath the table to catch a glimpse of the underside of Detective Smith's skirt. You could barely contain your disappointment when you found her legs to be crossed in a respectable fashion.' Ruby's eyes slowly relinquished their hold on an oddly shaped cube of crystalized sugar and dragged themselves towards their supposed waiter. He was innocently dressed in a crisp white shirt, black trousers and had secured an apron neatly around his waist, a folded pad and pen tucked into his left hand pocket. The arrogant baritone had been more than a give-away though Ruby was marvellously shocked when her eyes took in the striking visage of Sherlock Holmes, his cheekbones casting a more severe shadow than usual due to the high position of the sun. His mop of hair was as unruly as ever and Ruby could barely conceal a smile at the popped collar of his white shirt, proving beyond all doubt that it was the consulting detective in disguise. He raised his eyebrows at her "date", daring him to question his accurate deduction which would be received as an insult but was only meant as a description – with a little insult served on the side perhaps.

Francis had by now turned a delightful shade of puce and was spluttering incoherently at the man politely observing him. Worried for her "date's" health, Ruby managed to push aside her surprise and regain control of her vocal chords. 'Sherlock?' She murmured. Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed for a moment before he lost interest in the speechless Francis and gazed haughtily at Ruby.

'Need you.' Sherlock said; his frown relaxing as he nodded to Ruby before turning on his heel and marching out of the cheerful back-garden of the café.

'Y-You _know_ that man?' Francis was on the verge of exploding into a fit of disbelief as Sherlock glided away. Ruby didn't register Francis' expostulation; she was too busy watching Sherlock approach the exit of the café and instead of leaving the building, he struck up a heated argument with the manager. Snippets of their conversation attracted stunned looks from the surrounding customers.

'You really think you can stop me walking out of here?' Sherlock barked at the man who was roughly an entire head shorter than him.

'Your shift –'

'Oh shut up, your stupidity is contagious! If you would take a moment to observe, you would realise that unlike your other boring employees; I. Don't. Work. Here. Yes I know that must come as a shock to someone who spends _so _much time getting to know their staff that they wouldn't realise when a new waiter had mysteriously joined their ranks! Now if you'll excuse me, I have a taxi waiting to carry me to a far more interesting destination.' And with a dramatic flourish, Sherlock ripped the apron from his waist and slammed it onto the counter. He ignored the scandalised looks from the customers and as his eyes rested on Ruby, his head jerked towards the entrance of the café, demanding she should join him. Francis' speechlessness increased tenfold as Ruby slowly rose from her chair and as only previously imagined; she picked up her bag and walked away without saying goodbye. Ignoring the curious stares of her audience, she shook her head to strip away the surreal dimension of the situation and hurried to catch the gliding form of Sherlock Holmes. She quickly fell into step beside him as they left the café, thanking whatever God or karma which was responsible for this delectable distraction.

'Where are we going?' She eventually asked as Sherlock hailed a taxi and sprang lithely into its centre.

'221b Bakerstreet.' Sherlock instructed the cabbie, reclining in his seat as the taxi pulled away from the curb and entered a queue of traffic. The cab lurched to a stop at a set of traffic lights while Sherlock's gaze remained fixed on the stained window.

'You're welcome.' He said suddenly.

'For _what_?'

'Rescuing you.' He fired out the words with pompous panache.

'Sherlock, I did _not _need rescuing –'

'Ruby; you know better than to insult my intelligence, that Francis character was boring you half to death.'

'He wasn't boring –' Sherlock cut her off with a deploring look. 'Perhaps… perhaps he could have talked about something other than his golf swing.' She reluctantly admitted. 'But regardless Sherlock, I was on a "date", you can't seriously think your behaviour was acceptable?'

'Why? I do it to John all the time.' Ruby knew he was telling the truth and spent the remainder of the journey sympathising with Sherlock's roommate and best friend, wondering how he put up with the eccentricities of the consulting detective. Then again; she _had _just followed him out of a café which he'd infiltrated in order to drag her away to examine whatever oddity was currently occupying his attention (not to mention, he'd taken the time to upset the café's manager and insult her "date" along the way.) If she was feeling in a particularly open frame of mind, she might even admit to enjoying the notion of being _needed_ by Sherlock Holmes.

The cab rounded the corner and stopped neatly in front of 221b Bakerstreet. The two hopped out of the taxi and just as they approached the door, Sherlock suddenly halted, staring intently at something on the peeling, black paint. 'We have a visitor.' He concluded after a moment. Sherlock went to push open the door but Ruby's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, preventing him from doing so. 'What are you doing?' He asked in a bored tone.

'The last time you had an unexpected "visitor" in your house, it turned out to be two meth addicted twins who wanted to kill you; _remember_?'

'Your concern for my safety is adorable. However, if you were to knock this visitor unconscious with a baseball bat, I would find myself eternally in your debt…' Without explaining this cryptic comment, Sherlock pushed open the door and casually entered the hallway beyond. Ruby nervously ran a hand through her hair before following the spritely footsteps of the free-lance detective, slamming the door shut behind her.

* * *

**Thank you for your patience, I've finished exams and am newly employed meaning not an awful lot of free time for writing! But I will persevere long into the early hours of the morning in exchange for some lovely reviews! **


	15. Chapter 15

**Seven favourites, ten followers, five reviews all within 48 hours. I am feeling the love! Here is another chapter, revealing the mystery guest awaiting the arrival of Sherlock and Ruby...**

* * *

**A Distorted Reflection**

Ruby had become quite familiar with this wooden set of stairs due to finding herself in the curiously decorated flat of 221b whenever a homicidal maniac was on the loose – and boy had the London murder scene been _filthy_ over the past six months. Either that or her presence was demanded so she could honour her agreement of smoking one cigarette in the presence of Sherlock Holmes at 9:33pm on Friday. Out of habit, she skipped over the stair that creaked and hesitantly entered the living room where she was presented with an unusual sight. Sherlock's spread-eagled figure had been unceremoniously dumped into his favourite green armchair while what Ruby could only presume was one of his enemies lounged in John's armchair, a smirk plastered over his face. The visitor (who was clearly _not _on meth) gave no signal to having registered Ruby's presence so she carefully lowered herself onto the couch; she wasn't about to miss this strange encounter if she could help it. As the two men observed each other, Ruby was suddenly struck with the feeling that this man was Sherlock's "admirer", the one he'd mentioned in the café all of those months ago.

'Hello dearest _brother_.' The stranger drawled. Ruby suddenly doubled her efforts in observing the visitor who she now realised was none other than Mycroft Holmes, older brother, arch enemy, favourite of Sherlock's parents and smarter in theory than the consulting detective himself. He was wearing a sharp and _very _expensive black suit complete with three-button waistcoat; a satin handkerchief painted crimson peered neatly from his breast-pocket while a red tie pressed forcefully against the throat of his white shirt. A pompous frown pulled at his brows as he lazily observed his younger brother, his brown hair neatly combed back, revealing a high forehead which only proved to enhance his calculating visage. 'Ah, and you must be Detective Smith.' His eyes lingered disapprovingly on the violent shade of red cloaking the locks of Ruby's hair before quickly scanning the rest of her body. The way his beady eyes flicked over his surroundings forcefully reminded Ruby of a snake, the observations of which would allow Mycroft Holmes to execute a solution to any problem with intelligence, speed and a swaying grace. He twirled an expensive umbrella in his right hand while an elegant gold ring hugging his fourth finger flashed in a stray beam of sunlight. Ruby tried to ignore the estimated number she produced when thinking of the sum of the two men's IQs, a number which was well north of 300.

'It's nice to finally meet the elder Holmes. Mycroft; I presume?' Ruby felt she should be given an academy award for keeping her voice so steady, calm and controlled.

'Indeed. I hope my brother hasn't been the cause of _too_ much trouble?' Ruby opened her mouth to respond but quickly realised the question was rhetorical. 'You'll probably tell me what Sherlock's flatmate has said before; that you're _never_ bored. Although it appears you have quite enough drama in your own life to satisfy any sort of craving for excitement. Tell me, how has the breakthrough from last Thursday with regards to your identity crisis made an impact on your life? Your psychiatrist must be _so_ proud of your progress.'

Ruby had grown used to Sherlock's intelligence due to the almost comedic way he would show off his intellectual prowess. However; this cold and traditional (not to mention downright _snobbish)_ disposition of Holmes Senior made her feel a little more than intellectually inadequate.

'It's nice to feel like I know myself again.' Ruby said fearlessly, the freedom the epiphany had given her from her fourth session with Dr Lancaster was something she hadn't realised she'd been missing.

'Mmm lovely I'm sure.' Ruby could now sympathise with Sherlock's desire to knock his bombastic brother unconscious with a baseball bat.

'MRS HUDSON!' Sherlock's roar triggered a thrill of fear to run wild in Ruby's spine. Some rapid footsteps hurried up the staircase as the kind and very accommodating landlady bustled into the room.

'No need to yell dear, I can hear you just fine. It's these floors, not as good as they used to be –'

'Mrs Hudson, will you shut up and bring us some tea?' Sherlock ordered.

'Oh hello Mycroft, I didn't see you come in.' Mrs Hudson said in greeting, ignoring the outrageous rudeness of her troublesome tenant. Ruby was left wondering how Mycroft had gained access to 221b as Mrs Hudson retreated to the kitchen, closing the glass door behind her to let the brothers have their privacy.

'What do you want Mycroft?' Sherlock asked bluntly.

'I wish to discuss a matter of great importance, an issue of –'

'– National Security, the only reason you ever come barging into my flat. Boring. Dull. _Not_ interested.' Sherlock waved his hand dismissively while tugging absentmindedly at the upturned collar of his white shirt.

'Still playing at dress-up, I see?' Mycroft sneered as he took in his brother's appearance. 'Why a waiter? They hold such a mediocre position in society...'

'Because unlike you Mycroft, _I_ see the value in mediocrity where the mastery of disguise is concerned. The art of disguise as I've told you _countless _times is to –'

'–hide in plain sight. Don't think I've forgotten _Sherlock_.' The two brothers glared at each other for a moment and Ruby wondered if they'd notice if she slowly edged out of the room and left them to their bickering. 'I must say Sherlock; I was pleasantly surprised to learn of the good company you've decided to keep over the past six months.' Mycroft's domed head cocked slightly in Ruby's direction. 'The old families of Holmes and Smith have been amiable companions for the last five hundred years, a tradition which was thought lost due to it skipping the previous two generations. I _am_ pleased to see how the two of you have taken it upon yourselves to see this custom revived.'

'I take it you place a great deal of faith in conventions then?' Ruby asked, hiding her shock at this casual reference to the intimate and mysterious interactions of Ruby's and Sherlock's family. She could picture it far too easily, a large gathering of posh tossers in a posh room, talking about posh problems and looking down their posh noses at anyone who didn't rise up to their posh standards.

'Tradition defines us, whether we like it or not.' He sent a meaningful look towards Sherlock. 'Ms Smith, you possess a degree of mastery with concerns to the art of concealing your emotions from public viewing, however, your poker face slipped, you failed to fully conceal your surprise at hearing of the connection between our families of old.' This was not the true reason for Ruby's fleeting frown; she was more concerned with how Mycroft Holmes –who she had met only five minutes previously – knew of her wealthy background.

'Mr Holmes, are you trying to imply that we're related?' Ruby asked.

'I _beg_ your pardon?'

'You said our families were close. And you know what wealthy, pompous family's do when they get together? They marry off their daughters to sons of their friends. So are we cousins thrice removed or what?'

'We're not related.' Mycroft said bluntly, losing a touch of his esteemed disposition.

'Then why bring it up?' Ruby asked exasperatedly. Comments like this concerning the antics of her granny possibly gossiping with Sherlock's and Mycroft's granny were conversation pieces as useful as a sundial in the dark.

'I'm not sure.' Mycroft's frown deepened as he watched his little brother who had his famous skull perched on one of his knees and was gazing keenly into its empty eye sockets. 'So Sherlock, if you would be so kind as to ask your _friend_ to give us some privacy, we can get to the bones of this problem.'

'What problem?' Sherlock asked, his eyes never leaving his skull.

'As I said, with a little more privacy, I'll –'

'Shame on you Mycroft Holmes! How dare you not place faith in a member of the London Metropolitan who puts her life on the line every day of the week to protect your beloved commonwealth?!' Sherlock expostulated, earning nothing but a roll of the eyes from his older brother.

'Come Sherlock, no need for dramatics –'

'The secret service I can understand, they are _spies _after all so there's no point in trusting them. But a good old fashioned detective; is that not worthy of your trust Mycroft?' Sherlock was having far too much fun teasing his older brother, a feeling which intensified as Mrs Hudson returned to the living room and settled a tea tray on the coffee table, the china cups complimented with thick slices of chocolate gateau. 'Cake Mycroft? Oh no I forgot – the diet, how rude of me.' Sherlock said smugly as he plucked an indulgently large slice and delicately began to eat it. The stinging glare which Mycroft threw at Sherlock felt almost as powerful as a physical slap. 'There's nothing of "National Importance" which you cannot say in front of the detective, I _assure _you Mycroft.' Mycroft twirled the handle of his umbrella faster, the handle adopting the personality of a rattlesnake. The angrier he became, the faster the umbrella spun.

'The Mastercard.' Mycroft phrased the word carefully, making Ruby wonder what a Mastercard might be.

'What about her?' Sherlock asked in a bored voice.

_Wait a second… the Mastercard's a "her"? That's a strange pseudonym. _

'You know _what_!' Mycroft snapped.

'She stole a few jewels from a load of rich old sods and dispersed them among the poor. VIVA LA REVOLOUTION!' Sherlock suddenly roared, making his brother jump _ever _so slightly.

'Sherlock, be serious! She's terrorising the people she targets.'

'Someone's terrorist is someone else's freedom fighter.' Sherlock muttered dismissively.

'So you won't take a look?'

'If it's provoked you into such a fitful state of passion, why don't you take a look?'

'Because I have far more pressing issues to deal with. Besides, this case requires your unique… _enthusiasm_.'

'Told you he was lazy.' Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow at Ruby meaningfully. 'Anything else _dear brother_? What about the nonsense happening in Belgium? Sure you don't want me to take a look _there_?'

'It is a rather delicate matter Sherlock, and we both know how _extraordinarily _clumsy and tactless you can be.'

'Sure you won't stay for some cake?' Sherlock's smirk was threatening to cleave his face in two as Mycroft rose to his feet.

'Stay out of trouble, Sherlock.'

'Stay out of the cookie jar, Mycroft.' The eldest Holmes gazed haughtily at his little brother for a moment before striding towards the exit.

'It was a pleasure to meet you Ms Smith, I'm sure this won't be our last meeting.' He said from the doorway. A second later he was gone, his languid steps disappearing down the stairs. Ruby blinked slowly as her attention drifted back to the consulting detective whose hands were steepled beneath his chin. After a solid minute of silence, Ruby decided to see what the hell it was Sherlock wanted to show her.

'Well, your brother is certainly a lot like you Sherlock.' Not a peep from the dark-haired detective. 'Sherlock?' Still nothing. 'Why did you pretend to be a waiter this morning to drag me here?' She snapped, her patience wearing thin. Sherlock didn't respond, instead he leapt from his chair and headed upstairs towards John's bedroom where he quickly returned in about thirty seconds, wearing his leather gloves. He stepped carelessly into Ruby's personal space; his eyes possessing a steely depth of unexplored ocean coupled with a slightly manic façade. Ruby stupidly wondered if this was what Harry Potter felt like when Dumbledore observed him over the tips of his interlocked fingers. Sherlock wasn't looking at her, he was s_eeing_ her and the difference raised goosebumps on her skin.

'Try not to scream.' He whispered. Ruby frowned at the odd choice of words as Sherlock raised a leather clad hand and unfurled his clenched fist beneath Ruby's nose. Sherlock' peculiar phrase suddenly made perfect sense as a perfectly round diamond, the size of a marble, rested delicately in the curve of Sherlock's palm.

'Sherlock! T-That's t-the –'

'Yes Ruby, I'm more than aware of what this precious stone is and who it belongs to; my attention however, is more drawn to why it was resting on John's bedside table when he woke up this morning.' Ruby genuinely gaped at Sherlock when he dropped that last bombshell.

'_What_?' She whispered.

'You should have seen his reaction, something I believe that if it were caught on video, it would garner millions of hits on TubeYou.'

'It's YouTube Sherlock.'

'What do I need to know such pointless information for? Will it help me solve this case? _No_.'

'It's not that hard to remember –'

'I refuse to remember pointless information.'

'Like how the earth revolves around the sun?' Ruby asked cheekily.

'Exactly.' Ruby forgot about their little spat and chose to stare at the flawless diamond instead.

'This isn't my department.'

'You'll have to excuse me if I'm not shocked by this information.'

'I'm a homicide detective Sherlock, why would you even show me this?'

'Perhaps I was of the opinion that you weren't being suitably challenged in your line of work and needed to take up a new hobby.'

'A new hobby?'

'Yes, one which would benefit your career as well as your mind.' Sherlock removed the diamond from view and stuffed the priceless jewel into the pocket of a wine dressing gown hanging on the door. 'I suppose you might think of it as a freelance assignment. Outside of office hours.'

'You want _me_ to help you catch this "Mastercard" woman?'

'I don't need your help; I'm merely giving you a valuable opportunity. You could take what you learn from my stunning examples and use your expanded knowledge to improve the ghastly methods employed by you and your colleagues when conducting an inquiry.'

'You never fail to amaze me Sherlock.' A tiny hint of satisfaction creased around those turbulent eyes. 'I mean it, every single thing you say, regardless of the words spoken, you can _always _turn it into an insult.' She took a step backwards and inwardly sighed at the retrieval of her personal space, failing to notice the darkening of Sherlock's features. 'Be honest. Why do you want me sticking around on this case?'

'Because you know parkour.'

'Are you requesting another spectacular chase from me?'

'No, seeing as the Mastercard isn't familiar with parkour. And don't compliment yourself; your moves were rusty when you were chasing Leo Shannon. You'd have never caught him if he hadn't been so desperate to land himself in custody.' Ruby resisted the urge to grit her teeth.

'What's so important about me knowing parkour then?'

'It might be… _useful _at some point.'

'Just to clarify, you told your brother to fuck off when he suggested you take this case to give him the impression that you're not interested when in fact you really _are_?'

'The Mastercard wants me involved; why else would she leave the stone in John's room? A miscalculation on her part, she _clearly _meant to leave the diamond in my room, thus proving how cocky she is.' Sherlock completely missed the irony of this statement. His hands travelled up to the top of his shirt where he returned the right side of the collar to a popped position. 'What?' He asked when Ruby frowned.

'Earlier when Mycroft said you should get rid of your "friend" so the two of you could talk in private–'

'What about it?'

'You didn't correct him.'

'Ruby, what _are _you blithering about now?'

'Anytime someone refers to me being your "friend" you always correct them. _Always.' _Sherlock's brows furrowed as he recalled the conversation in question. 'Why didn't you correct your brother Sherlock? Hang on…' She bit the side of her thumb. 'Do you… do you think of me as a _friend _Sherlock?' Ruby asked cautiously.

'Don't be absurd, you're detective Ruby Smith, someone who I put up with on an almost daily basis in order to aid my cases.' Sherlock said dismissively.

'Oh.' Ruby viciously scolded herself for showing a slight hint of disappointment which wouldn't go unnoticed by the detective. Sherlock's frown deepened as his eyes bristled with energy.

'You're not the _most_ idiotic detective I've ever worked with.' Sherlock said slowly, peeling the leather gloves from his hands after he realised he'd offended Ruby. 'And though you're still a far cry from reaching the title of "friend" which only John commands… you're one of the few who has left the level of "acquaintance" and soldiered blindly into the uncertain territory beyond.' He threw the gloves onto the middle cushion of the couch. 'Though I don't know why you're making the effort.' He added thoughtfully.

'Well… at least that makes two of us.' Ruby ran a hand through her hair, shaking the long red locks viciously before deciding she needed a haircut. 'And sure, I'll help you on this case. Who knows? It might be fun.' Both knew that she was eagerly disguising her excitement; there was no way Ruby would pass off the chance to work with Sherlock without Donovan and Anderson sneering over the consulting detective's bizarre methods.

* * *

**Gah Mycroft Holmes! Did I manage to render him in character? He was a tricky little devil I'll tell you that!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Heeeeey there. So for all the love (represented by joyous leaps in my reviews, favourites and followers) I decided to stay up late last night and tonight in order to bring you this chapter. It's a little more watertight compared to the slightly shaky standard of the previous chapter. I hope it answers some of your questions!**

* * *

**Shattering an Illusion.**

Ruby glanced over at Sherlock's horizontal form splayed on the long couch and swallowed another question about the identity of this "Mastercard" woman. He'd been ignoring her for the past two hours, failing to respond to her occasional questions about the case or Mrs Hudson's fussing over his refusal of dinner. She flicked over another page of newspaper, pursuing an article about a girl called Chloe Milton who was making her way in the world of politics but giving up half way through. A new woman in politics… who cared anymore? The promise of change and actual change were the things most talked about in politics although in Ruby's opinion, only the former was ever truly achieved.

_Thank goodness I'll never be granted a position of power in government; I'd probably abolish all known law, seize power and create a dictatorship where change would be implemented immediately. In theory it doesn't sound so bad… but then again the case of Adolf Hitler strongly disproves such a hypothesis. _

Her head snapped up when Sherlock suddenly sprang from the couch and rushed towards the entrance of the flat where he stopped and began glaring at the dressing gown draped over the open door. His fingers were just reaching for the wine-coloured garment (presumably to retrieve the priceless jewel he'd casually stuffed into the inner pocket) when he paused. He slowly looked around and his eyebrows contracted into a severe frown as his eyes locked on Ruby, making her feel uncomfortable. 'Why are you lying?' He asked bluntly, his voice slightly raspy due to lack of use.

'_What_?' Ruby asked, wondering what Sherlock was going on about now.

'Lying. Not telling the truth, fabricating fiction in order to conceal something… I'm sure you're familiar with the concept.'

'I may have come across it–'

'Good. So, why are you lying?'

'About _what_?' Ruby asked impatiently, trying and failing to remember when she might have lied to the consulting detective.

'I asked you why you're attempting to forge a friendship with me as the answer is beyond even _my_ keen observational skills. You claim you have no motive for such an action. You're lying.'

'Honestly Sherlock, not every person you meet has to have some motivation behind wanting to form some sort of friendship!' Ruby said firmly, doing her best to make her offensive statement sound genuine. She resisted the urge to chew on the side of her thumb.

'And now you're employing your well-honed ability to lie without being detected, opting for an offensive tact which would save you from the mistake all amateur liars make: adopting a defensive strategy and trying too hard to explain themselves…' If it were possible, Sherlock's frown deepened. 'No… you don't want to be my friend, you _need_ to form some sort of strange bond with me. But _why_?' Sherlock had taken a few steps forward and was once again encroaching on Ruby's personal space. 'Sentiment alone can't be driving such a need.' His eyes seemed to vibrate as he glanced up and down her figure. 'Perhaps it's something of a _sexual _–'

'Now would be a good time to shut up Sherlock.' Ruby ordered.

'I have yet to master the illogical workings of the female mind with concerns to their urge to procreate; it is an area which utterly defies reason and thus I find myself unable to deduce whether this plan of yours to become my "friend" is driven by a primitive urge to produce a baby with my superior genetics or if it is something else entirely.' Ruby couldn't quite conduct a clear train of thought for the next ten seconds; Sherlock had just mentioned sex… with concerns to her desire to carry _his_ baby.

It was a little too much to take.

'I don't want kids. Ever.' She eventually managed to mutter. 'Hurl that premise into the fire and burn all traces of it from your luxurious mind palace, if you'd be so kind.'

'So if not for primitive urges, then what motivation remains for you? Is someone blackmailing you… oh it's Mycroft isn't it? Of course it is; he offered the same deal to John, it was a good idea to take the money to spy on me; John was an idiot for not taking the hand-out.'

'Sherlock, the first time I met Mycroft Holmes was over two hours ago! Look…' She fumbled for an explanation to convey why she wanted to be his friend without giving away her _true_ motivation. 'You extracted me from my date with Francis by saying "need you" before swanning off to start a fight with the café's manager. You knew we were more than acquainted so you took advantage, knowing that I would leave because of our relationship and that I would help you with any problem you had be it personal or work-related –'

'_Wrong_, why would I ever come to you with regards to personal matters? And I thought I made my intentions perfectly clear by obliterating the "I" from the phrase "I need you" to simply "need you" so as to convey how my intentions were clearly for a work-related matter, not something of a _personal_ issue. Did I need your presence more than Francis? Yes, hence why you promptly left him without explanation and followed me to 221b. However, do not mistake _need _for _want _detective. Did I _desire _your presence more than Francis? Obviously the sex addict wanted you more than _I_.'

'Jesus, Sherlock, you're completely missing the point here! Just answer me this: why does John need to be your friend?'

'Simple; he misses the war and I am his own personal battlefield manifested in the exciting cases on which I bring him.'

'Yeah well, if you apply the same logic, it can be argued that you satisfy some lacking part in my life too. Nothing of a sexual connotation of course!' She hastily added.

'So your interests are purely sentimental… nothing to do with sexualsuggestion or even perhaps motivated by _blackmail_?'

'It's not so hard to believe is it?'

'I…' He shook his head for a moment. 'I don't understand.'

'You don't need to. It's useless information – and we both know how much you hate useless information.' Sherlock raised and dropped his eyebrows in a motion which yelled "This is true" before returning his attention to the wine dressing gown, retrieving the diamond and rolling it around in the palm of his hand.

'Is the post office still open?'

'Yes. Why?'

'I should probably send this back to its owner.'

'By _post_?' Ruby asked incredulously.

'If we send it in an armoured truck, then it will most definitely be robbed. However, if it's sent via the cheapest parcel deal in England then no-one will think it'll be something worth stealing.' Before Ruby could try to comprehend this turn of logic, the front door opened and slammed beneath them. Ten seconds later, John entered the flat and promptly collapsed into his armchair, ignorant of the powerful figure who'd occupied it some hours previously.

'Yes… yes, I've had it. Too much… just wrong. She should… yes. Hmm…' John muttered to himself, massaging his brow for a moment before realising Ruby and Sherlock were staring at him. 'Oh. Hello you two. Anything interesting happen today?'

'Are you alright John? You look… tired.' Ruby asked.

'John's emotionally exhausted, not physically. Just broke up with his girlfriend, the clingy one. She sobbed and John feels guilty and is now haunted by thoughts of perhaps doing the wrong thing. He is currently trying to convince himself not to call her and inquire of her well-being; instead he plans to work up the nerve to ask out his co-worker tomorrow.' Sherlock said airily as he snatched his dressing gown from the door and went to put it back in his bedroom.

'How was your day John? My day was fine Sherlock thanks for asking. Oh no problem John, I just thought that today I wouldn't be a massive dickhead as usual. What a lovely idea Sherlock, you should try it more often. Why thank you John, I think I just might.' John muttered to himself as Ruby smiled helplessly at the tired veteran. This was not the first imaginary conversation John spoke aloud where he devised Sherlock to ask something nice instead of rattling off one of his cold deductions.

'How'd she take it?' Ruby tried to sound sincere but she wasn't fooling anyone, she'd openly disliked the needy Kate who John had been in a rocky relationship with over the past four months.

'Not well.' John's voice was sharp.

'Breakup's are rarely easy-going, but you did the right thing John.'

'I did?' He asked, looking bewildered.

'Absolutely. Now stop worrying about it and tell me about this co-worker of yours you plan to ask out tomorrow.' This was one of the reasons John so enjoyed Ruby's company; she could give him proper advice on relationships – unlike his haughty flatmate.

'Well… her name's Mary.' An adorable smile pulled at his lips. 'She was the one who initially offered me the job at the clinic and she's been sending me… uh… _definite_ signals.' He said with a firm nod.

'What does she look like?' Ruby asked, ignoring the return of a certain high-functioning sociopath who lowered himself delicately into his armchair.

'Oh let me see, John's typical taste in women – Long brown hair, brown eyes, pale skin, tall but not _quite _equalling John's lacking height. She's smart, but not as qualified as John of course; she's covered some of his shifts when he was weak and succumbed to the urge to sleep after a particularly interesting case… Have I got anything wrong?' Sherlock's voice oozed arrogance as he enjoyed the annoyed expression sliding onto John's face.

'As usual; no Sherlock. Nothing wrong. I was thinking of asking her to the cinema and I was wondering Ruby if you had any recommendations?' John asked.

'_The Place Beyond the Pines_ was absolutely sublime, take her to see that and she'll believe you to be some deep, intricate person with an artistic mind – the only problem is that she may be distracted by the shirtless form of Ryan Gosling and the fine figure Bradley Cooper cuts in a suit. Probably best to avoid it then… _The Great Gatsby_ if she's any sort of girly girl she'll love this film though at points it's melodramatic and you will find yourself rolling your eyes at a few indulgently lavish scenes. The aesthetics are gorgeous though and Leonardo Di Caprio puts in another flawless performance though he's considerably hampered by the monotonous narrator… then there's _Mud_ with Matthew Mcconaughey who puts in a performance worthy of at least three separate Oscar nominations though he won't get any as he is still trying to shake off his romcom shadow… then of course there's Ironman3 which won't be as amazing as the first but will eclipse the second in terms of quality. Robert Downey Jr is always a safe bet with these sort of movies though if Mary hasn't a playful sort of personality, she'll think you're just a kid and won't consider a serious relationship with you. Then there's the new Star Trek which I think will blow everyone away as JJ Abrams has opted for a film focusing on the villain and boy did he chose a strong actor for the job. If she has any sort of toleration for stories with a sci-fi spin, she'll love it. Out of this list, The Great Gatsby is the safest option and you won't be completely bored out of your tree.' Ruby swallowed, suddenly painfully aware that she'd been ranting about movies – _again_. Before John could thank her for her input, the doorbell rang. From somewhere far below, Mrs Hudson greeted the visitor and Ruby noticed Sherlock roll his eyes, meaning he undoubtedly knew the identity of said visitor. A pair of light footsteps mounted the stairs and Ruby's eyes widened as Kate; John's new ex, sauntered through the open door. John's hand hovered uncertainly in thin air, the act of turning the page of his newspaper completely forgotten.

'Well, don't look at me like I'm a stranger! C'mon John, put on one of your adorable knitted jumpers and we'll leave. I've booked dinner reservations for half seven.'

'D-Dinner?' John managed to splutter.

'Yes John! Remember we said we'd go for dinner this evening, just the two of us to talk about "us" and where our relationship is headed? Hurry up or we'll be late, I've booked that Indian place you like!'

'Um Kate, d'you remember the conversation we had about an hour ago in the café?' John carefully asked.

'Of course silly, what do you take me for? You were talking about a case then suggested that I stop by to 221b and we'd go and do something this evening.'

_Kate's pretending the break-up didn't happen. _Ruby hadn't expected Kate to be this melodramatic, not to mention downright _crazy_. It was pretty difficult to keep a straight face when a scene plucked from a dodgy sitcom was playing out right in front of her eyes.

'Kate… I broke up with you in the café. We weren't working out; we're no good for each other… are you seriously saying you don't remember that?'

'Of course I remember you saying something about a break up but you were _obviously _joking, I mean we're doing just fine, we have no need to separate.' She spun off this phrase with a streak of sincerity which Ruby found disturbing. John dropped his newspaper and strode towards the demented woman, an unusual steely glint painting his normally kind eyes.

'Now look here Kate, you're a great gal and all but this has to stop. You have to stop this. Now.' He took her shoulders in his hands and gave her a rough shake. 'We are no longer a couple. Do. You. Understand?'

'Oh John sweetheart, you're such a little minx with your pranks. Of course we're still a couple! And listen, I know we've only been dating for four months but I was thinking, my parents are in London this weekend and wouldn't it be swell if you came with me to meet them?' Something inside of Ruby snapped at this comment and before she knew what she was doing, she found herself standing beside John's shoulder. 'Sorry sweetie, this is a private conversation.' Kate said with a voice drowned in sugar.

'Oh I don't think so.' Ruby said, placing her hands on her hips.

'_Excuse_ me?'

'Kate, I'm going to have to ask you to leave and never bother John Watson again.' John nodded firmly.

'On whose authority? You don't live here, you can't throw me out.' She smirked at what she thought was a clever turn of logic.

'Oh as I'm sure you've forgotten; I'm a detective so yes actually, I can and will ask you to vacate the premises.' Ruby said while carelessly flashing her badge. Kate's brows furrowed but her feet remained planted on the ground.

'C'mon John, let's go and leave this psycho territorial bitch to do whatever it is she does.' Kate sneered. That was it, Ruby was more than willing to kick proceedings up a notch to knock some sense into this disillusioned woman.

'I'm afraid I can't let you leave with John.'

'Oh and does your little detective badge give you the authority to separate two people who are clearly in love and will be married one day?'

'Not the detective badge love, but because John isn't _you're _man anymore.'

'And what gives you that impression?'

'Probably because he's _mine_.' She carelessly threw an arm over John's startled shoulders and kept her eyes on Kate, daring her to question it further.

'No… he's not. He's mine. _Mine_. Get your hands off him!'

'Do you see him shying away from my touch?' Ruby asked patiently. 'John love, how long have you been trying to get this clingy woman off your back so you could ask me out?' She asked him innocently.

'Uh….Uh…. six weeks?' He eventually offered; doing his best to reign in his bewildered shock as he delicately placed a hand on the small of her back.

'Six painstaking weeks of subtle hint dropping until _finally_ he sat you down and talked it over with you and here you are, desperately acting as if he's still your boyfriend. Words are obviously of no use to you are they?' Ruby turned her head to the side and with practised tenderness, pressed her lips gently against John's for a few seconds. John blinked stupidly as she withdrew and raised her eyebrows at a devastated Kate.

'S-So… you and h-her?' She spluttered as tears pricked her eyes, allowing her mascara to run like tyre tracks over her cheeks.

'Um… yes. Me. And Ruby. Together?' He looked at Ruby uncertainly. 'Yes. Definitely.' He cleared his throat roughly as Kate's frame suddenly became possessed by a fit of sobs until finally she fled 221b, rushing down the stairs and slamming the door behind her.

'Crazy gal.' Ruby said with a dismissive shake of her head before releasing John from her protective grip. 'She shouldn't be bothering you again anytime soon. If she does, let me know and I'll fill out the paperwork for a restraining order.' Ruby said easily, inwardly laughing at the mystified expression on John's face. He didn't quite believe what had just happened and he was certain it would take some time to settle in.

'Uh… thanks I guess?' He muttered; his feet rooted to the spot.

'No problem… and John?'

'Hmm?'

'You should probably call Mary about your cinema date now that you're officially single.' Ruby said meaningfully.

'Right. Mary… yes I think I have her number in my bedroom…' He muttered to himself as he shuffled from the room and clumsily climbed the stairs. Ruby took John's armchair and noticed that Sherlock was openly staring at her, his book lying forgotten on his lap and his face holding a hint of an emotion she couldn't quite place.

'You jealous Sherlock?' Ruby asked playfully.

'No.'

'Sure you don't want a kiss too?'

'Don't be absurd.'

'Relax would you? It was just a simple peck on the lips, Jahmene and I have done it loads of times. It happens between friends at one point or another, it's almost a rite of passage.' She placed her lips on the back of her hand and gave herself a small kiss. 'See? Nothing. Just skin against skin.' She said with a shrug before picking up John's forgotten newspaper and flicking to the movie review section. She was halfway through the review on _The Hangover Part III_ when she realised Sherlock was still watching her. She slowly lowered her paper and gave him a pointed look.

'It means… _nothing_? I thought it was supposed to mean something.' Sherlock said slowly, his dire lack of knowledge rendering him a novice in this area. Ruby pursed her lips for a moment, considering expanding Sherlock's education with regards to a kiss.

'Well _obviously_ a kiss means something if it's with someone you like. And yes in this instance I am referring to the state of being attracted to someone, not a person you like only as a friend. And it all depends on your reaction to it… How do you identify if someone is attracted to you?'

'Elevated heart-rate, dilated pupils.' Ruby quickly rose from her seat, took Sherlock's hand and pressed it against her neck. His fingers were cold and smooth. 'Well, is my heart pounding madly as a sign of my undying love for John Watson?' She asked with a grin.

'It isn't elevated.'

'And my pupils?'

'Normal.'

'Then what conclusion must we draw?'

'That the kiss meant nothing?'

'_Exactly_. John was a bit surprised but after the shock dies down he'll be grateful because I've helped liberate him from having a psycho ex.' She walked over to the table, grabbed her bag and headed for the door. 'I'm going home now as I'm starving and there's nothing in your fridge apart from some poor sod's nose and I'm not feeling in a particularly cannibalistic mood.' Without waiting for a response, she sauntered down the stairs and after bidding Mrs Hudson goodbye, quickly vacated 221b. As the door closed behind her, she shook her head for a moment, trying to process the surreal events which had taken place in Sherlock's apartment. 221b never failed to provide spectacular entertainment and she found herself eagerly awaiting the next episode after she clambered inside a taxi.

* * *

**Well, that was ridiculously good fun to write at 2 in the morning! Anyone see Ruby's kiss with John coming? I didn't think so! **


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Four: Unchartered Territory **

Ruby's phone beeped as the taxi rounded a corner. She noticed a new message from Jahmene; it seemed he'd been notified of her poor treatment of Francis when she'd unceremoniously abandoned him in the café earlier on. She rolled her eyes after reading the patronizing text and left the musty interior of the cab, hoping Jahmene wouldn't set her up on a fourth blind date.

The night was slowly starting to settle in, a few stars peering through the smoggy canopy which formed an almost constant ceiling over the city of London. A group of men outside of a pub were chattering amicably across the street and a starving Ruby hurried towards the five star hotel, looking forward to a home-cooked meal. She was almost at the entrance when she abruptly collided with someone. 'Sorry!' Ruby said automatically, catching a brief glance of the person she'd knocked into. Instead of receiving the token "No problem" or something of that nature, she was gifted with a bewildered stare. One which she quickly found herself returning as she recognised the man she'd bumped shoulders with.

'L-Leo Shannon?' Ruby managed to splutter.

'Well… if it isn't our feisty Detective Red.' Leo said quietly, his eyes flicking around the street, taking note of the line of taxis and the group of men celebrating across the way. 'And what, might I ask, brings you to this area of London?' He asked while casually pushing the hood of his red jumper back, revealing a tousled mop of brown hair, the fringe of which fell into his laughing brown eyes.

'Going home.' She said truthfully, making sure to look anywhere but at the expensive hotel towering over the two of them.

'You're walking? _Alone_? I thought you might have learnt something from your last solo excursion to stop you from pursuing such a troublesome path.' Ruby's teeth clenched as she remembered the two men entering her hotel room disguised as room service waiters and having to pretend the attack was a "jumping" incident instead.

'I'd be very careful talking about such subject matter Mr Shannon, especially with the detective who said incident happened to.' Ruby spat.

'Hey, take it easy, you're grand!' Leo said quickly. 'I suppose that was my poorly worded offer of asking if…'

'If what?'

'If you wanted me to walk you home…?'

It was rare for Ruby to be taken by surprise, but this request left her flabbergasted.

'Leo Shannon, you want to make sure that I… a detective who _arrested _you, makes it home… _safely_?' There had to be an adjective beyond incredulous to describe how Ruby felt. Bewildered? Befuddled? Shocked? Astonished? Surprised? Astounded? Overwhelmed? Confounded?

Yes. That was it. She was feeling confounded. Not in the Harry Potter way (though she was sure the sensation felt peculiarly similar) but in the This-can't-really-be-happening way.

'I suppose it _does _sound a little too good to be true.' Leo murmured while rubbing some of the stubble on his chin. The movement attracted Ruby's disorientated attention to the man-of-wax good looks which bedecked Mr Shannon's face in a most aesthetically pleasing fashion. Describing Leo Shannon as being handsome was like saying Ruby had red hair – it was _that_ obvious.

'A _little_ too good to be true?' Ruby asked weakly.

'I never wanted you hurt _or _dead Detective Red. You should know that by now.' Leo chanced a glance up and down the street again. 'I helped you out in that investigation. Now why would I do that if I wanted your heart to stop beating?'

'Oh no, you just sent me to a meth-head's place of residence so that I could have fun trying to avoid being beheaded by an _axe_.' Her voice was roasted in sarcasm.

'And how was I supposed to know that was going to happen? It was Danny Cleary; it was _always_ Danny Cleary, Detective.'

'Do you expect me to believe _that's_ your answer? There's always an ulterior motive Mr Shannon. Always.'

'Not this time.'

'Your boss fell; I wonder who filled the power vacuum?' Ruby asked scathingly.

'I'm afraid I couldn't possibly comment.' Leo said pleasantly, running a hand through his hair and grinning down from his six foot height. 'Tell me, did dear old Locke put you up to asking me such a question if you ever ran into me?'

'Eh... Locke?'

'The "Great Consulting Detective" of course: Mr Sherlock Holmes or to those who fall outside the cast of his annoyingly fine net call him: Locke. Or if we're feeling in a particularly foul mood, we might even call him Sherly.' His smile widened at Ruby's frown. 'Oh he didn't tell you did he? That Danny Cleary's case wasn't the first run in we had…? Then again, Locke is a sore loser. If you asked him about it, he'd probably tell you he'd always known.' Leo casually shrugged his toned shoulders but he knew he'd finally piqued Ruby's curiosity.

'When was this run in?'

'About what… two years ago now?' He pursed his Italian quilt soft lips. 'Sure you don't want me to walk you home? I could tell you the tale enroute…'

'I really don't want a criminal knowing where I live.' Ruby said sweetly.

'Fair enough, then maybe some alcohol might jog my memory.' He had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing, Ruby looked completely thunderstruck. 'There's a most excellent little bar about three streets away, perfect for a little chat.' Ruby's blinking time had doubled. She had to send someone important a message, there appeared to be a bug in the matrix as former convicts were asking their arresting officers out for a drink. Yes, it was the only explanation as this really couldn't be happening. 'Detective Red?' Leo asked after a minute of silence, managing to work his nonchalant aura perfectly – the messy, rumpled exterior was complimented by a dimension filled with bags and bags of style. This was a dimension which most men weren't even aware existed, but those who had it such as Leo Shannon (and Sherlock now that she thought about it) always had a way of getting what they wanted – regardless of how ridiculous the request.

'You're buying.' Ruby eventually muttered, stalking by the triumphantly grinning Mr Shannon and hurrying down the darkened street.

_What the hell am I doing_? Ruby thought as she entered the bustling bar and took a corner table, placing her bag beside her on the elevated couch. _I'm in a bar with a criminal I arrested a little over six months ago!_

A few minutes later Leo returned while elegantly balancing a round tray in the palm of one broad hand. He deposited the tray on the table and Ruby frowned as he slid two drinks over to her and placed the other two beside him.

'What's this?' She asked suspiciously.

'That is a tequila shot with salt and lime. The other is a White Russian though I had to specially instruct the bartender in how to make one seeing as anyone who hasn't seen the Big Lebowski hasn't a clue what I'm raving about.'

'You like Coen Brother movies?' Ruby asked, her initial indignation forgotten.

'Love 'em. Fargo, Raising Arizona, Miller's Crossing, A Serious Man, The Big Lebowski, Barton Fink, True Grit… It's hard to believe that so many original movies were written by dear Joel and Ethan. And they're brothers! How do they not kill one another..? Anyway, s'cuse my rant!' With that he placed some salt on the back of his hand, licked it, threw back the shot of tequila and bit greedily into the wedge of lime. He shook his head, his mop of hair swaying like the fur of a dog before expelling a long sigh. 'Damn... that's pretty strong!' He spluttered, a colour rising in his cheek from the straight shot. Ruby rolled her eyes, licked the salt from the back of her hand and swallowed the tequila, feeling the liquid nuzzle down her throat with fiery warmth. She daintily picked up her lime wedge and nibbled on the edge of it, allowing the zany flavour to compliment the tequila. She glanced at Leo whose mouth was hanging open. 'Are you even _human_?' He asked.

'It wasn't that strong.'

'Yes. Yes it was.'

'Or maybe you can't handle your drink.'

'Oh my handling of alcohol isn't the issue here. Your humanity on the other hand… if I were to cut you open I think we'd find wires instead of bone and blood.'

'So what, I'm a drinking machine?'

'Apparently… yes.' Ruby rolled her eyes before taking a sip of the White Russian. It provided a lovely balm against the fire the tequila had inspired.

'So tell me.' She lazily demanded.

'Tell you what?'

'Your run-in with Sherlock Holmes, the story you promised you'd convey.' Ruby said with quirked eyebrows.

'Ah good old Locke. Now that is a story which brings up rather peculiar memories, along with a very dangerous woman.'

'Who was this woman?' Ruby asked; the promise of a story Sherlock wanted to keep a secret had her brimming with excitement. Or maybe that was just the tequila talking…

'Ah some strange name, what was it again? Yes! Irene Adler.'

'Irene Adler? Who's that?'

'Use the correct tense Detective Red, who _was _Irene Adler?'

'She's dead?'

'Dead as a gravestone. And between you and me, _everyone_, including dear Locke, is better off as a result. I've never met such a dangerous snake of a woman clothed in such a desirable form.'

'Was she a prostitute?'

'No... something far rarer and troublesome than a prostitute. No her hobby was being a dominatrix while her profession involved the collection and storage of important secrets.'

'I don't understand…' Ruby was frowning now.

'She commanded a very elite clientele and after placing them in – ah – _compromising_ positions of a seriously creative nature, she would take some pictures and have them for safe-keeping. With said secrets, she could persuade a lot of powerful people to do as she asked.' Ruby's eyes suddenly widened to the size of dinner plates.

'Are you saying that this Adler woman has pictures of _Sherlock_ in handcuffs or something–'

'Haha! Unfortunately not, though if such a thing did exist, there isn't much I wouldn't do to get my hands on them…' Leo said wistfully, a dangerous gleam marring the benign façade of those usually friendly eyes. 'Locke is too careful and clever to land himself in those situations as Ms Adler found out to her dismay. They had an incredibly long game in which Sherlock almost lost… I'm afraid you'd have to ask Mr Watson for more details on the story. I do however know this: of all the women Locke has ever encountered, Irene Alder was the only one who successfully challenged his indifference to the fairer sex.' Ruby's eyes narrowed slightly as the comment provoked a slight twinge in her stomach. It appeared to catch Sherlock's eye in _that _way, all that was necessary was some extreme sexual empowerment. The information dragged an inexplicable jolt of disappointment into her frame; she'd been expecting the consulting detective to be attracted to someone as bizarre and incredible as himself. The idea of Sherlock liking this Irene character seemed to shatter the image Ruby had constructed of the dark-haired detective.

'So Leo, how do you fit into this story?' Ruby quickly asked, trying to ignore those troublesome thoughts.

'Oh that. Well, Locke being the emotional imbecile that he is; couldn't understand that Irene Adler had fallen for him and thus was blind to how that might affect the game they were playing. I was the one to tell him of this gap in his knowledge.'

'_You_?'

'Before I became someone of… _note, _I used to give the consulting detective snatches of information when he was on a case. Then there came a time when I had no need to avail of the funds from the detective.' He said with a meaningful wink, enjoying the way Ruby's face darkened at this implication of his promotion in the crime world.

'So you were always good at being a snitch then.' Ruby sneered.

'No, I was simply smart enough to know when I needed to look out for myself. Loyalty is something which in my line of work, is easily bought. As you can imagine, trusting people in such an environment leads to … complications.' He smiled tightly while taking a sip of his White Russian.

'Leo… is there a reason I bumped into you tonight?' She asked quietly. He looked at her with furrowed brows.

'Like… what?'

'Are you in trouble?' Ruby asked seriously.

To her dismay, Leo burst out into uncontrollable laughter.

'N-No. No t-trouble f-for me.' He eventually spluttered as he took another heavy draft of his drink. 'This little get-together is something called _chance_ Ruby.'

'I don't believe in coincidence.'

'You've been working with Locke for a while now, you even _sound _like him.'

'I do _not_ –'

'I'll admit; you've slightly more tact than he.' He said. 'Alright, fine. I'll tell you.' He said, crumbling beneath her unwavering stare. 'I deliberately bumped into you when you got out of your cab.' He admitted.

'Why?' Ruby demanded.

'I'm not sure if you noticed the group of men across the street from where you left your cab, but one of them is known as Johnny 17. He was released from jail today after serving a spell of eight years –'

'I know who Johnny17 is.' Ruby said with a visible shudder as she remembered the high-profile man-hunt for the serial rapist. 'He's out?'

'You haven't been watching the news lately have you?'

'I've been busy…' Ruby murmured, understanding now why the ambience in homicide had been so vile over the past few days. 'He was just across the street?' Leo nodded.

'I have it on good authority that when a serial rapist makes it out of the can, he's instantly looking for his next victim.' He murmured.

'So you walking me home –'

'No, that was just an excuse for conversation. I pushed my hood down so one of his buddies could recognise who I was… meaning that you'd be out of bounds.'

'…Why?'

'_Why_?!'

'Yes. Why.'

'I'm not the villain you imagine me to be Ruby.' He said softly. 'Regardless of what activities I've been involved with… rape is something which I will never condone. It didn't matter that you were the pig who'd arrested me six months ago, don't you see? It was that snake's intentions!' He spat, his nostrils flaring and his eyes adopting a steely façade.

'Well… uh thanks then. For watching my back.' Ruby said awkwardly, astonished by the seemingly noble actions of Leo Shannon. He waved her gratitude away, his eyes suddenly rooted to someone making their way through the bar. A man of no more than twenty years approached the table and beckoned for Leo to join him.

'What is it, Raz?' Leo snapped.

'Uh Leo, you haven't gone and forgotten have you? About tonight?' He cast a shifty glance at Ruby as Leo's brows furrowed.

'Of course not Raz. I'm coming right now.' Raz nodded before hurrying away from the table.

'You have lieutenants reporting to you? You _have _been promoted.'

'Not exactly.' Leo said with a forced smile. 'Listen, there's somewhere I have to be. Don't bother paying for your drinks; I have a tab here under my name. The bartender is called James, ask him for a taxi and he'll sort you out no problem.' Leo rose to his feet, a strange look twinkling in his eye. 'You know, if you weren't a pig, I'd probably be giving you my phone number right now.' He said while tilting his head to the side.

'There's no need for that Leo, I already have it on your record.' Ruby replied instantly, her eyes flashing.

'So if you ever want to do this again… you know how to get in touch.'

'To do what exactly?'

'Go for a drink, take in the ambience… have some _fun_.'

'You think I want to do this again?' Ruby asked as patronizingly as she could manage.

'The very fact that you came with me in the first place is proof enough that you don't _completely_ hate my guts.'

'I think you should go Leo.' Ruby said quietly.

'Alright! I'm leaving. See you soon Detective Red.' He saluted her then sauntered carelessly out of the bar, leaving a gnawing anxiety in the pit of Ruby's stomach. The truth of the matter was that she'd actually_ had_ fun with the free-running criminal. Compared with the other three catastrophic dates she'd been on, this little excursion had been an exercise in pleasure, not pain. She idly turned over the beer mat her empty shot glass had been occupying and squinted at the writing scrawled on its underside.

It held a phone number and a small note:

_0044-1246-9812_

_Just in case. _

_Leo._

* * *

**Thank you for your patience and incredible feedback from the previous chapter! Sorry this took some time to be posted as I decided (probably very unwisely but I do not care) to begin a Khan/OC story for Star Trek: Into Darkness after watching the movie last week. So juggling two stories now, whoooo let the writing frenzy begin!**


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Five: The Cracks Begin to Appear**

Six days had passed since Sherlock had shown Ruby a flawless diamond the size of a marble. There had been no word from the Mastercard concerning her extraordinary gift to John Watson but Sherlock had become obsessed with the case and according to John, he had a general idea of what and who her next target would be. As to the identity of the mysterious woman, nothing was to be discerned as of yet.

Six days had also passed since Ruby's chance encounter with Leo Shannon. The beer mat with his number lay on her glass table at home, untouched since she'd thrown it there upon returning to her suite. Every evening she came home, stared at the mat for a moment then conveniently distracted herself so she wouldn't have to think about that particular issue. She was staring at it right now but luckily for her, it was after eight-thirty and she had to catch a cab to Bakerstreet in order to smoke her weekly cigarette in the presence of a mad genius.

Twenty minutes later she was pressing the doorbell of 221b, her thoughts still bent on why she'd brought that blasted beer mat home in the first place. She heard hurried footsteps and John's worried face opened the door.

'Oh thank God you're here. Maybe _you_ can talk some sense into him.'

'About what?'

'You'll see.' John muttered before heaving a sigh and opening the door further. Ruby squeezed past him and jogged up the stairs, wondering what the consulting detective had John annoyed about now.

'Sherlock? What's this I hear of you doing something completely mad – AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!' Ruby screamed as she entered the living room as some sort of weapon whistled towards her and buried itself in the door mere inches to her left. She slowly peered up from her hunched position, removing her hands thrown over her head to find that it was an arrow, an actual _arrow_ vibrating gently from the jarring impact of the door killing its momentum.

'Ruby! Are you alright?!' John blustered as he thundered up the stairs, his eyes widening after seeing the arrow in such close proximity to Ruby's head.

'She's fine, I wasn't aiming for her.' Sherlock said dismissively as he strolled forward with a bow casually slung over his shoulder, plucking the arrow from the door before returning to his stance in the middle of the room. He hooked the arrow in the bow once more and John and Ruby quickly ducked out of his way when he aimed for the door once again.

'Sherlock, what the HELL do you think you're playing at?!' Ruby yelled as he released the arrow once more where it landed with a decisive _thump _in the door. She could tell from the multiple puncture wounds that he'd released the arrow roughly thirty times into the shoddy sheet of wood. Sherlock hurried over towards the door and an evil smile pulled at his lips as his eyes ran over the arrow.

'Oh yes… _finally_. The right angle, the correct entrance into the wood and most importantly, the correct _distance_.' He muttered to himself.

'John, how long has he been at this?'

'The past hour.' John grumbled, throwing his flatmate a filthy look

'But _why_?'

'For the case of course.' Sherlock explained as he flung himself into his green armchair, forgetting about the arrow buried in the door of his living room. Ruby looked helplessly to John who sighed and quickly began to explain.

'The Mastercard struck again last night, lifting a diamond necklace from some duchess worth a million quid. At the scene of the crime there was an arrow buried in the duchess' bedroom door and Sherlock has been trying to replicate – for God only knows what reasons – the exact position which would have been required to loose said arrow.'

'And that's the correct trajectory?' Ruby asked, slightly amazed by how quickly she'd grappled with this insane situation… spending more time with Sherlock Holmes led to an increased tolerance for the ridiculous it seemed.

'Precisely.' Sherlock leapt to his feet and shot through the kitchen, opening the door to his bedroom. He turned around, his head peering comically around the door. 'Whenever you're ready, _detective_.' Sherlock said while jerking his head towards the chamber behind him. Ruby shared an awkward glance with John before reluctantly slouching towards a door hiding a room she had not been allowed to see. She ducked beneath Sherlock's outstretched arm and stared around at the green papered chamber.

'Pop quiz, as the Americans say.' Sherlock drawled as he swung the door shut behind her.

'Pop quiz?' Ruby asked as she tore her eyes away from a framed picture of the periodic table.

'You have one minute to observe – not search – this room and when that minute is up, you will tell me what information you have deduced concerning my character.'

'But –'

'I'd hurry up if I where you detective, time doesn't wait for the idling woman.' Ruby scowled at him and was about to give him the middle finger before marching out of his room when a black and white portrait caught her eye. She quickly crossed the room and found that her eyes hadn't been deceiving her, Edgar Allen Poe's sulky eyes gazed back at her, the founding father of the short story not to mention the inventor of detective fiction. Ruby turned her head and gazed at Sherlock incredulously, this was not the person she had expected to find hung up in his bedroom. Albert Einstein: yes. Edgar Allen Poe: definitely not. She sat down on what she understood to be the unused side of the bed and with a private smirk, she stretched and flopped down amongst the messy sheets and disgruntled quilt.

'What are you doing?' Sherlock's voice was guarded; having Ruby Smith snuggling into his duvet wasn't exactly the point of this exercise.

'Taking a quick nap.' She rolled over slightly so her head found the corner of a pillow. 'How the hell do you ever get out of bed? Your mattress is almost as comfy as mine.' She commented.

'Get off my bed.'

'Relax Sherlock, there's plenty of room for you to take a nap too.' Ruby had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop the giggles. She hadn't made Sherlock this uncomfortable since she'd straddled his thighs during their first encounter.

'That's my bed. Get out of it before I haul you out.' Ruby opened one of her eyes and gazed up into Sherlock's furious ones.

'Make me.' She challenged, her eyes adopting a slightly colder façade. There was a point to this little game, one which she wanted to make sure Sherlock didn't forget in a hurry.

'Don't provoke me; you will regret such a childish action.'

'I don't think I will.' She replied silkily; making a show of burying her head into the pillow further. The soft cotton smelled rather excellent, she wondered what fabric softener Mrs Hudson used to produce such a lovely scent; she'd have to ask her later.

'Why are you testing me?' Sherlock's deep voice asked, the source of which was much closer than before. Her eyes flew open to find the dark haired detective lying next to her, his manipulating eyes taking in every imperfection of her pale face. Ruby was genuinely shocked; she hadn't felt the bed lower in the slightest as Sherlock crept in beside her.

'Don't you know?' Ruby asked innocently, quickly recovering from her surprise.

'Your time is long up, what have you deduced from this room?' He asked, easily changing the subject.

'I don't care for taking part in your little pop quiz.'

'Who said you had a choice? I'm being hired by some very prestigious and wealthy people to have a look at this case and with one word from me, I'll have you barred from every –'

'Oh.' Ruby gasped quietly, not caring about cutting Sherlock off mid-sentence. 'You little witch.'

'_Sorry_?'

'You don't want me on this case because I know parkour, you want me here so I'll be able to sweet-talk the rich folk of my supposed class!' She spat, feeling her cheeks grow warmer.

'Only figuring that out now?' Sherlock's voice was beyond deploring.

'You still have no idea why I'm lying face-down on your bed, so don't talk down to me!'

'Oh I see, is this to do with the arrow I loosed earlier–'

'Nope.'

Sherlock frowned, completely at a loss for why Ruby refused to get off his bed. It was hardly as if he invited her to go for a nap.

'Is this some form of seduction?'

'Finally! You've cottoned on to my master plan.' Ruby said with a roll of her eyes. 'Sarcasm.' She added when Sherlock's face remained tense and blank.

'I knew that.'

'No you didn't.' Ruby muttered. 'Sherlock, believe me. If I was trying to seduce you, you'd have no doubts as to what I was trying to achieve.' She sighed before examining the tips of her fingernails. 'I guess I'll just tell you then. I'm lying on your bed because of that little "pop quiz" you decided to give me, idiot.'

'You've allowed your self-esteem to drop to such a level that a minor challenge will result in you instantly giving up? Moron.' Sherlock added.

'No you tool, it's not the challenge – which in itself is interesting – but you trying to make me a part of one of your experiments without my knowledge is something I don't appreciate.'

'Experiments?' Sherlock asked, doing his best to look puzzled.

'You're trying to figure out if from first glance, this Mastercard woman could tell if this room was yours or not. If I can then she most certainly should be able to, meaning that her intended target to receive that flawless diamond was indeed John Watson and not you. Meaning that –'

'– it was a token of admiration.' Sherlock finished, dropping any feigned innocence. 'Therefore the Mastercard is either a fan of John Watson's blog and this is a form of adoration which only a number one fan could express or, this woman knew John Watson personally and is only now having the courage to express said feelings.'

'Which do you think it is?'

'All actions are driven by a motivation… if you are an admirer of someone and decide to give them a diamond to express said affection; you're clearly trying to make up for something. Either she's a very ugly woman or she was so cripplingly shy in her younger years around John that now the only way to ever convey her feelings was through some grand gesture.'

'So you think they know each other from when they were younger?' Ruby asked slowly.

'_Obviously_ she knows him from her childhood, possibly they went to school together and it was there she suffered from the pointless infatuation with John Watson. Honestly, I don't know why people place so much faith in their feelings; it never leads them anywhere worthwhile.'

'How would you know, Sherlock?' Ruby whispered. Sherlock's head snapped to the left, his glare laser-like as he spat out his next words.

'I observe the idiocy of my fellow humans who decide to pursue such pointless paths. That is more than enough data to be working with, personal experience is immaterial.'

'Only someone without personal experience could draw such a conclusion.' Ruby said smoothly. As Sherlock was about to respond, a persistent beeping from Ruby's phone attracted both of their attentions. She stared at the screen of her phone for a moment, the beeping sound lost on her ears as she stared at the time and date:

_21:33 _

_19/05/2013_

'Do you ever plan on turning that alarm off?' Sherlock asked deploringly. Ruby blinked slowly as the significance of the date crashed horrendously over her head. It was today. How could she have possibly forgotten? 'Ruby, if you don't turn that alarm off, I'll throw that phone across the room.' She quickly turned off the alarm and shoved the troublesome contraption onto the bedside table.

'Mind if I smoke here?' She eventually asked; her thoughts so very far away from what she was doing.

Sherlock shook his head slightly, his eyes glued to the right hand side of Ruby' suit jacket where he knew she kept the treasure cigarette. She slowly withdrew her cigar case and the treasure cigarette from within. She turned so she was lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling as she placed her earphones in and flicked to an appropriate song.

'Is all that really necessary?' Sherlock asked. Even after six months of sharing this particular moment on a Friday evening, he was no closer to figuring out the significance of the music, the cigarette and the time of again, it wasn't as if he'd been putting all of his energy into figuring out this pointless little curiosity.

'Yes.' Ruby replied for the thousandth time, her voice sharper than usual. Her finger pressed hard against the hammer of her lighter, producing a large flame which sent the end of her cigarette smouldering. She pulled a long drag from the cigarette but instead of expelling the cloud in a series of smoke rings towards the ceiling, she turned her head slightly and blew the smoke gently onto Sherlock's face. His eyes closed on reflex though his lungs inhaled the fumes on instinct, savouring the fine tobacco before expelling it once more.

Ruby returned her gaze to the ceiling, her nerves jangling slightly as for the first time in a year, the cigarette failed to calm her anxiety. An anxiety which always plagued her at this time on a Friday evening but was today, much harder to resist than normal. Blowing the smoke towards Sherlock instead of shutting him out was the first sign of trouble. As Ruby drew another breath from the cigarette, she wondered if she'd be able to make it home before the shakes began to set in. She tried to comfort her vulnerable self with the knowledge that her trembling actions were to be expected and should not be a source of shame. A burning sensation in Ruby's nostrils as she took her final drag signified that she wouldn't make it home. She wouldn't make it to a taxi. She wouldn't even make it to the privacy of 221b's bathroom.

As gently as she could, she stubbed the cigarette in a nearby ash-tray and tried to ignore Sherlock's calculating eyes. He knew something was different, that something was… _wrong. _He wouldn't ask, he would try to deduce first, however, his conclusion would be incorrect – but that wasn't his fault. How could it be? He didn't know…

'Ruby.'

No-one knew.

'Hmmm?' She was preoccupied with bracing herself; she didn't have time to speak in anything more than vowels. Sherlock's brow furrowed as his eyes flicked to her slightly shaking hand, her flaring nostrils and her rapidly blinking eyes.

'What's happening to you?' He asked in a low voice. Ruby swallowed past the lump in her throat and tore her earphones from her ears.

Oh dear.

This wasn't going to be a quiet affair like every week. This, it appeared, would be rather messy.

'Ruby…?'

It was only to be expected. Today was the proper anniversary after all. This minute: 21:33. 18thof May eleven years ago. That's when it happened.

'Answer me.'

Of all the things he'd asked of her; 21:33 on Fridays was his request. Every Friday she would endure only a thousandth of the emotional trauma to prepare for the true Friday, the true 21:33. That true Friday was today. The clock had struck 21:33. And for the first time in her life, she was not prepared for it – and she was not alone.

Ruby suddenly turned and pulled herself closer to the dark haired detective. His entire body became carved out of wood as she clamped her hands around his shoulders, pressed her body against his side and placed her nose close to his Adam's apple.

'I know you hate this.' She began through gritted teeth, fighting off for a moment the horrors which were just around the corner, waiting to greet her. 'You loathe this close contact, especially as it's a girl – on your bed. But you _must_ understand Sherlock; I need an anchor… just for a little while.' She was praying he didn't shove her away, he had no idea how much she needed him to stay _exactly _where he was. Her own body coiled for a moment as she felt the burning stretch from her nostrils and greet her eyes with familiarity. Moisture surrounded her eyes for a moment and like a pot brimming with boiling water, tears splashed outwards, running down her cheeks and colliding with Sherlock's pale skin. He flinched from the unexpected moisture, his eyes looking downwards to confirm what his sense of touch was telling him but finding his vision blocked by a head of violently red hair instead. She shook gently against him, some inner calamity wracking her body with uncontrollable muscle spasms. If he didn't know any better, he'd presume this was a seizure of sorts but he _did _know better. This, he deduced, was a physical manifestation of a sentimental crisis.

Sherlock didn't weave his arms around Ruby's waist to hold her body closer to his. He didn't whisper words of meaningless comfort into her ears lost beneath the shield of red hair. He did not massage the small of her back while gently rocking her body. He didn't drag some of the tangled blankets over her shivering frame. He also didn't throw her vulnerable body away from him in disgust nor did he leave the room and slam the door after him. He didn't demand she rise and explain what had triggered this deteriorated state. He didn't order her to vacate his house at once. He didn't insult her for succumbing to such a petty, emotional reaction. He didn't complain about the irksome moisture repeatedly dripping onto his neck nor did he flinch when her fingernails dug a little too sharply into his angular shoulders.

Sherlock did exactly what was asked of him.

He endured.

* * *

**I took a risk with this chapter, Sherlock's reaction was something I worried about... Constantly. Let me know if it pays off. The reviews, follows and favourites always make writing for this site worthwhile. Thank you. **


	19. Chapter 19

**Usually I avoid fluffy authorial entries up here as it disrupts the fluency of the story but I had to say thank you to all of you who favourited , followed and reviewed, especially flaming-amber who's review for the last chapter was more of an essay than a few kind words. Beautifully written! Also thanks to Protagonist Of Life, Guest User Scarlet, Kat7CA, .1999, bored411, Why Fireflies Flash, Applejax XD, Misplaced Levity and Coffeehouse Angel for the continuous support. You guys make my belly shake like a bowlful of jelly from happiness! **

**Now enough smush and on with the story!**

* * *

**Smoke and Sound Waves**

Ruby slowly stirred, her head nuzzling against the soft cotton enveloping the warm pillow. Aches tingled along her body, targeting her joints as she stretched, producing a mini cacophony of _pops _as her ball and socket joints ridded themselves of little air bubbles formed in the synovial fluid. She blearily opened her eyes where she was promptly presented with some disconcerting facts:

**Fact #1:** She wasn't in her own bed.

This conclusion was drawn from the wrong texture of the bed sheets, the wrong colour of the surrounding walls (a soothing green when hers should be an almost abrasive blue) and of course the most obvious piece of evidence which was:

**Fact #2**: She wasn't _alone_.

Ruby blinked stupidly for a few moments as she took in the slumbering form of Sherlock Holmes, lying on his side with his mop of hair clashing against the white pillow. Her hands were pressing gently against his purple shirt and she could feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath the rich material riddled with creases. Her hands must have fallen there after sleep had coaxed her fingers to stop clamping onto Sherlock's shoulders. The usually sharp eyes were roving beneath delicate eyelids as he chased some foe who had tried to escape his grasp in his dreams. His mouth was slightly ajar which gave his visage a slightly childish appearance, something which allowed a vulnerable dimension to be presented, one which Ruby had never been privy to see. She stared for a moment, forgetting about her bewilderment concerning this bizarre sleeping arrangement. In the depths of sleep, Sherlock looked… _relaxed_. When he was awake, he was _always_ wired, be it with impatience for the next case or excitement for when he was on the trail of a serial killer. This still, peaceful Sherlock brought home the realisation that despite his machine-like qualities and how he wished the world to perceive him, the dark-haired detective was as human as the red-haired detective studying him.

Ruby moved slightly and felt something slide off her waist and thump onto the mattress between their relaxed bodies. She glanced down and found no pillow, only Sherlock's hand. She frowned deeply, trying to understand why Sherlock would have placed it there in the first place. Perhaps it had been his attempt at comforting her during her meltdown–

Hot waves of humiliation slapped harshly against her body for allowing herself to lose control like that, especially with someone who so deeply despised the emotional depths of the human psyche.

She'd been sostupid.

So unprepared.

So foolish.

Yet despite her rash behaviour, Sherlock hadn't balked. He hadn't tried to "fix" the situation like anyone else would; he had given her exactly what she needed. This terrified her that a supposed sociopath would be best equipped to deal with such a meltdown. Looking upon his face now, Ruby couldn't hide from the one fact blaring from their current position: something had fundamentally changed in their relationship. Sherlock had seen her at her most vulnerable, reduced to a pathetic shadow of the woman he was used to dealing with and for reasons beyond Ruby's comprehension; he hadn't run away.

Quite suddenly, Sherlock's eyes flew open and he glared at Ruby, still seeing for a moment the phantom he was chasing. Ruby remained perfectly still as the glare flickered and died, his face still retaining a hint of the calm disposition she had seen as he slumbered. The two watched each other for a moment; neither sure of what action they should take as both remembered the uncomfortable events of the previous night. What was the protocol in such a situation? In case of fire, don't use the elevators. In case of floods, don't sleep in your basement. In case of the world's only consulting detective witnessing your reduction to a putrid puddle of emotions while using him as an anchor to root yourself to this world, don't instigate sex as a form of gratitude. You'll only traumatise him and be stung by rejection.

That's what you _don't_ do.

So what should you do?

Staring can't be the answer although at the moment it seemed that was the only thing either Ruby or Sherlock was comfortable with doing. Ruby was too embarrassed to think of any proper words and Sherlock was too puzzled by his reaction to Ruby's emotional stimulus to form any solid conclusions. He loudly swallowed and she found herself fascinated by the jumping motion of his Adam's apple as it pressed jovially against the smooth skin of his neck. Her gaze slowly returned to his unflinching one and she suddenly knew what to say. She removed her hands from his chest and slowly pushed herself upwards, running a hand through her unruly crimson hair as she sat up. She pulled her legs beneath her and turned her body so she was facing him.

'I think it's time I explained about this Friday 21:33 ritual I have.' She began. At the prospect of new information, Sherlock practically leapt into a sitting position. 'But first… what have you deduced about it? I don't want to be repeating information you already know.'

'21:33, obviously the time where an emotional crisis occurred for you though some years ago, eleven by my count. Judging from your… _intense_ emotional reaction, yesterday, the 19th of May was the true anniversary. And what happened to you on the 19th of May eleven years ago which would provoke such a regimented routine? Someone you loved deeply, the most love you've ever felt for someone in your life died. You still miss them even to this day and judging from your sympathies where sibling favouritism is concerned, my bet is on your only sibling. Younger. By…' He screwed up his eyes for a moment. 'Three years? Yes. Three. Not a younger brother, you wouldn't have felt the same emotional connection to a male… so evidently a younger sister.' He finished promptly, his eyes glistening beneath his untamed hair as he reeled off the spectacular deduction. Ruby pushed a hand against her forehead as she gazed at Sherlock. How could his mind be in such high-functioning order after only awaking?

'Incredible…' Ruby chuckled, missing the slight curl of Sherlock's lips at the compliment.

'All correct?' He demanded.

'Yes, all correct. Even the age gap between me and my younger sister. But how… how did you know?'

'Well, you have come to this house approximately 31 times to smoke a cigarette, 31 by 5 equals 155 minutes of speculation on why you have this odd little habit. Yet with the lack of new data, I have been unable to decipher further details such as why the cigarette is necessary as your little sister I presume didn't die of lung cancer. The music is obvious of course, you need that to allow you to block out the outside world so you can fully concentrate on the memories you wish to relive. The expense of the lighter and cigarette allows for a sense of grandiose to the 21:33 period of a Friday night, that much is clear, but _why_ the cigarette?' He leant forward as he orated that last question, his eyes slightly mad as his hands clasped in prayer beneath his chin.

'The cigarette is only a minor detail, D-Diana –' She took a moment to steady herself as she voiced her dead sister's name '–Diana was a bit rebellious and liked to smoke, claiming that she could never become addicted. She started when she was sixteen although no £5 pack of cigarettes would do for her. She used to procure fancy cigarettes from the strangest of places although Treasure Cigarettes were always her favourite. She would never smoke more than one a week as she claimed such a fine thing should not be taken for granted and smoked twenty times a day.'

'She was a tobacco enthusiast, I myself started when I was fifteen – Oh.' Sherlock's eyes rolled into the back of his head for a moment.

'What?' Ruby asked.

'Never mind for now.' He said, his eyes snapping back to the present. 'I have a peculiar feeling that there are some interesting quirks about Diana which you are about to tell me.'

'Do you have any idea what they are?'

'Surprise me.' Sherlock challenged.

'Alright… she was a protégé.'

'With concerns to…?' Ruby took a deep breath then slowly let go of it.

'The violin.'

'That fits.'

'How does it fit?'

'Ruby, one of the first things you correctly appraised of me was how I held a certain mastery over the violin. You could tell from the callouses on my left hand, meaning you knew the extent of my practise and of my talent by comparing my callouses with those you would have seen on your sister's fingertips. So she was proficient on the violin, a tobacco enthusiast. What else?' Ruby bit the inside of her cheek for a moment as she looked at Sherlock, wondering if it would be disloyal to Diana's memory if she continued. 'What else?' Sherlock's voice was trying very hard to mask his impatience.

'You're a high functioning sociopath.'

'I'm more than aware of my accurate self-diagnosis. Stop deflecting Ruby.'

'I'm not deflecting; this is related to what I'm trying to explain. You're a high-functioning sociopath except people constantly mistake you for a psychopath.'

'That is as a result of their preposterous lack of knowledge on the subject. You at least don't suffer from this idiotic misconception thanks to your psychology degree.'

'It's not because of my degree that I have such a solid grasp of the concept, Sherlock.' Ruby muttered. She sighed deeply, preparing to finally say it bluntly. 'You see Sherlock… my sister wasn't like you. She also wasn't like me. She…'

'She what?'

And here we go...

'Sherlock... my sister Diana, she was a psychopath.'

* * *

**I would be mightily impressed if any of my lovely readers saw this coming. Thoughts on Ruby's sister would be greatly appreciated. I'll be posting very soon again on this, don't worry I won't leave you guys hanging too long! How could I? I have almost a hundred followers and over fifty favourites. Keep an eye out for the next instalment over the next day or so. **


	20. Chapter 20

**See? I promised I would post soon and BAM within 24 hours I updated. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Ulterior Motivations.**

The air seemed to grow heavier with this confession as did Sherlock's features. 'You didn't see that coming did you?' Ruby asked playfully, a bitter smile pulling at the corner of her lips.

'A psychopath!' Sherlock eventually blustered, his eyes squeezing shut as he berated himself for missing this crucial piece of information. 'It doesn't matter, it all still fits.' He muttered to himself as he struggled to reassure whatever deduction he'd made. 'If anything… it makes _more_ sense.'

'What does?' Ruby asked suspiciously.

'You'll see.' His attention focused on Ruby once more. 'So you grew up with a psychopath.' He said bluntly.

'Yes.'

'I bet mummy and daddy were _so_ proud.'

It happened before Ruby could fully process Sherlock's words. Her hand reached across the short distance between them and forcefully slapped Sherlock's face; his head jarring to the left from the strong impact. He ground his teeth together for a moment while slowly returning his head to the centre, his eyes blazing with anger. 'It appears I touched a nerve.' He whispered, slightly disarmed by the raw fury etched into every crevasse of Ruby's face, making her look at least ten years older. If he wanted all of the information concerning Ruby's strange ritual on a Friday night, he would have to tread more carefully. 'My words… they may have been insensitive.' He allowed.

'You wouldn't be saying that if I hadn't decided to leave an imprint of my hand on your face.' The two glared at each other for a moment but neither were able to keep up the serious façade, they soon gave way to some derisive snorts of laughter.

'Are you alright? I sort of went for you.' She said with a few giggles while reaching forward and gently touching the red sting on Sherlock's left cheek. She went very still as Sherlock's hand reached up and cupped her fingers, keeping her hand pressed against the burning skin. Upon catching her bewildered look, he rolled his eyes.

'Your hand is cold.' He explained

'Oh.'

'What did you think I was doing?'

'I've no idea.' Ruby said honestly. 'D'you want me to get some ice?'

'Your hand will do for now. Finish your story. And I would be most grateful if you would refrain from slapping my face.'

'I can't make any promises.'

'Excellent, now you sound like Donovan.'

'She'll probably promote me if I tell her what I did.'

'We could arrange for you to slap me in front of the entire police force to make sure of it.'

'What's the price?'

'We simply split your pay rise.'

'Seems pretty reasonable to become a young sergeant.'

'The _youngest_ sergeant.'

'We'd make quite a duo; the world's only consulting detective and Britain's youngest sergeant, fighting crime together.'

'You make us sound like some soppy superheroes.'

'There's nothing soppy about heroes, Sherlock.'

'Well if that's the case, you would obviously be my sidekick.'

'No I _wouldn't_–'

'And why not?'

'That position is already filled.' Ruby said while nodding to the ceiling where John was currently sleeping.

'Well… I can't fault your logic there.' He murmured with a smirk, his eyes flicking to the ceiling before narrowing on the detective sitting across from him. 'Back to more interesting topics such as why you blame yourself for your sister's death.' He said abruptly, savagely killing the lightened mood. 'What happened?' He was trying very hard to adopt a tone which didn't sound so demanding but that was something Sherlock was unused to accomplishing. Ruby composed herself for a moment, trying very hard to have the courage to speak the words aloud. Normally she would tell anyone prying into her personal life to fuck off but with Sherlock… he wasn't judgemental. He looked to reason, to logic and drew conclusions from them. He wasn't interested in judging the people; all he wanted were the facts. This information genuinely interested him and as a result, she had his undivided attention. It would be easy to explain about Diana to him.

'Diana didn't feel. She had no morality, no conscience, no love, no hate, no sense of humour. She had two different spectrums: she had anger and she had the lack of anger which manifested in something I like to think of as stillness. That was it.' With her free hand, Ruby ran her fingers through her fringe and tugged harshly on it. 'My parents… they couldn't understand. They were afraid of her and found it so hard to love something which they didn't understand. If there came a particular moment where she would do something which they deemed completely unacceptable, they would tell her to be more like her older sister.' The muscles of Ruby's neck stood out at this particular comment. 'I had been brought up on a healthy diet of the expectations of society, rules which were understandably beyond my sister's grasp. Where my parents gave up, I decided to take up the slack. I would teach her certain things, what was alright, what wasn't, how to handle situations in a certain manner. The close relationship developed between us which allowed her to trust me to always give her the right advice without judging her. She didn't know or understand what love was, but she knew I loved her. She couldn't love me back, but she was always most _still_, around me.' Ruby let go of her fringe and allowed her hand to clench and unfurl by her side.

'I accepted her for who she was, something which allowed us to get on very well. She would say the most outrageous things and would have no fear of my reaction to her opinions.' Ruby cracked a smile at this. 'But my parents… they couldn't accept that they had produced a psychopath. They were secretly afraid that she might turn into some axe murdering maniac because she didn't have a conscience hard-wired into her system. Dear mother and father didn't realise that she would be willing to learn what society viewed as right and wrong. So they went to anyone who might help, waving ludicrous amounts of money in people's faces to try and procure a "cure" for Diana. There was nothing wrong with her, she was just different, fantastically so.' Ruby swallowed angrily. 'Eventually, they produced a certain psychiatrist who was ito hypnosis. I was nineteen by then; Diana had just turned sixteen and was on her way to becoming the youngest violinist to lead the London symphony orchestra. She went to this doctor for a couple of sessions and as usual nothing happened. On the fourth session however, something did occur. I've read the notes of that hour she spent in his study and I questioned her considerably on the period but she would never say exactly what happened. She came home from the session to the library; it's where we spent most of our time as our parents rarely ventured into that part of the house. Something was different; I knew it as soon as she came into the room. Her eyes were glassy and from the day she was born, she'd never cried. Ever.' Ruby bit her lip for a moment as a shiver stole through her body. 'I was sitting cross-legged in front of the fire reading a book and she sat down next to me. Next thing I know, she's collapsed in my arms, bawling her eyes out and asking between sobs how it's possible to live with so much pain?' Ruby was looking past Sherlock's rooted face into her past, watching her nineteen year old self comfort her distraught sister, the flames licking the sides of the white marble fireplace.

'What happened?' Sherlock murmured, gently coaxing Ruby back to the present.

'She'd had some sort of breakthrough with the doctor. She could… _feel_.' Ruby's eyes were watering but the tears did not yet threaten to spill onto her pale cheeks. 'All my life I had known her to never be able to experience emotions but this doctor was convinced otherwise. He was certain an event had taken place in Diana's early childhood when she was a toddler, one which her small body and brain would have been unable to handle. So she siphoned off a portion of herself, the part which would feel that trauma and buried it deep. This doctor had gone prying where he wasn't wanted and had opened up that vault. You must understand that it wouldn't be normal levels of emotion pent up in this chamber, it would be a lifetimes worth along with the initial trauma which had caused her to lock them away in the first place. She lay a shivering, sobbing wreck in my arms for hours as I did my best to comfort someone who was only experiencing for the first time fear, love, hate…' Ruby's jaw locked, momentarily ridding her of her ability to speak. She swallowed painfully and continued with her story.

'A few months went by but she never spoke of her breakdown. She was struggling on her own with these foreign emotions and for the first time in our relationship, she was shutting me out. Either she didn't want my help or felt too afraid to ask for it. One evening we went to this recital with one of Diana's favourite violinist's and after the concert, I couldn't find her anywhere. I exited the concert hall and saw her standing on the opposite side of the road which was busy with traffic. She smiled and waved at me from across the road and…' Ruby's voice broke momentarily, one tear of a scalding nature escaping and burning a raw tract down her cheek. 'She watched a bus approaching at high speed and then she… blew me a kiss. It seemed so odd yet at the time, I didn't take any notice of it, I was trying to figure out when it would be safe to cross the road. Then she gave me this odd salute, a reduced wave of goodbye and stepped in front of it.' Ruby shuddered uncontrollably as the memory pushed to the fore of her mind, the sounds, smells and sights all as vivid as they were on that night.

'Suicide?' Sherlock murmured, taken quite by surprise.

'S'not what the papers said. Freak accident. Only I knew any different.' Ruby sniffed loudly and dropped her hand from Sherlock's face to help wipe her cheek. Sherlock observed Ruby shrewdly but once again didn't offer to comfort her. That was more John's area of expertise and he'd most likely do it wrong anyway. There was however, one thing he could do, something which logic and reason would profusely aid in.

'Judging from the data you've presented with me Ruby, there is only one thing which I can conclude.'

'Which is?' She asked nasally.

'Your sister's death wasn't your fault.' He said baldly, trying to ward off his bemused look when Ruby's gaze snapped to his.

'What?'

'Your sister's death was not your fault.' He repeated.

'What makes you –'

'How about the overwhelming evidence of you being opposed to changing your sister's personality, the fact you accepted her for who she was not to mention helping her to successfully integrate into society without making her feel like a moron? You're an idiot if you think you were the one responsible…' He didn't continue as he was completely disarmed by the desperate look which had slid onto Ruby's face.

'Do you mean that?' She croaked.

'Which part?'

'That it wasn't…my… fault?'

'_Clearly_ I meant it –' To his complete and utter bewilderment, Ruby burst into tears. Sherlock didn't understand, what he had said was meant to help Ruby come to a swift close on this messy affair, not inspire _more _of it.

'S-Sorry!' Ruby blubbered as she dove beneath the covers, completely mortified by her tears. After allowing the sobs to subside, she emerged from the tousled quilt, her bloodshot eyes raking over Sherlock's bewildered face. 'Sorry.' She whispered again.

'Stop saying that. It's irritating.'

'Sorr– I mean, eh, thanks.' She noisily cleared her throat before sitting upright once again. 'So what was this epiphany of yours you had earlier?' She hesitantly asked.

'Which one might that be?'

'Oh don't act innocent Sherlock, I can tell you're dying to divulge what you've realised.' Sherlock raised and dropped his eyebrows for a moment before returning his sharp gaze to Ruby.

'I remind you of your sister.' A blush blazed across Ruby's cheeks, painting the usually pale skin a visceral red. 'The violin, the interest in tobacco, the disregard for social conventions… I do believe that the motivation for you wanting me as your "friend" is because I take you back to a happier time in your life by simply being my enigmatic self.' The blush spread down her neck. 'Well, at least I'm sure that's what Doctor Lancaster said to you when you had your little break through concerning your identity crisis during your fourth session. Don't you remember Mycroft congratulating you on your excellent progress when you first met him?'

Ruby raised her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. She just wanted to sink beneath these covers and never be seen or heard from again. Mortification was a truly uncomfortable sensation; the needling sensation in her stomach was akin to profound nausea.

'You're embarrassed.'

'No shit.'

'Why?'

'What do you mean, _why_? You know why!'

'You're offended because I know why you like being around me when most can't bear my company for more than five minutes? How absurdly irrational.'

'Irrational?'

'There's no logical reason to be feeling humiliated.'

'This isn't about logic Sherlock, logic and emotions generally don't see eye to eye. They are oil and water, chalk and cheese –'

'Then if not for rational reasons, why are you feeling embarrassed?'

'…does it matter?'

'It must do seeing as you're making such a ridiculous deal out of it!'

'It's… embarrassing is all. These are personal reasons, I wold have preferred to keep them private.'

'You mean you rather lie than tell the truth.'

'Everyone lies Sherlock. If they didn't, you'd be quickly out of a job.'

'As would you, _detective._'

'Look, this _entire _situation is completely mortifying to me.' Ruby said bluntly, deciding to explain this as she would to her sister if she were still alive. 'I have just spent the night in your bed after dissolving into a pathetic bundle of fragile emotions in front of someone who on principal; does not entertain feelings on any level whatsoever. That makes me feel _weak, vulnerable_. I awake to find that I have pushed the boundaries of our… whatever this is, by spending the night. No, before you interrupt, sex is irrelevant here. You stayed by my side when I had an emotional meltdown which would make Freud roll his eyes. But you _stayed_. You allowed me to get rid of all the anger and grief without trying to "fix" everything. Most people would say you were useless, you didn't offer any comfort whatsoever, no advice, no real physical contact. But you're not most people… you understood when I said I needed an anchor that that was exactly what I needed. It _terrifies_ me that you understood so well Sherlock.'

'Why does this instil fear in you?'

'I don't know!' Ruby said, her arms flailing in an alarming manner. 'And then, after I wake up after you've seen me at my most vulnerable, that isn't the end! Oh no! You've also managed to pluck one of my most guarded secrets from my breast because of what you witnessed. And now you know that I'm a little bit crazy for wanting you around as you remind me of my long dead sister who was a brilliant violinist but nonetheless was a psychopath who killed herself by jumping in front of a bus!' Ruby was panting after she finished her rant. 'In answer to your question Sherlock, I am embarrassed. I have every right to want to sink into the floorboards over there and never resurface.' Her head drooped slightly, despite only awakening, she felt as if she could nap for another few hours.

'Emotional exhaustion can be as draining as a physical one, or so I've read.' Sherlock murmured.

'So?'

'Isn't it obvious? You need to rest.' Sherlock flumped down onto his bed, his curls slamming comically against the pillows. The dying blush in Ruby's cheeks returned with a vengeance when he tapped the spot next to him. 'Research shows that after said emotional exhaustion, sleeping with a companion helps the patient to feel safer and allows them to recover more quickly.' Ruby stared at Sherlock, completely astounded by this casual suggestion they should sleep together.

'Why do you care?' She asked quietly.

'A man as interesting as me doesn't have the opportunity of making or keeping many friends. However, when opportunities arise, I do my best to expand my intimate little circle… if the candidate is suitable of course.'

'_Candidate_? And here I was baffled by why you weren't the most popular man England had ever known.' Ruby murmured while shaking her head. She chewed the side of her thumb for a moment before throwing caution to the wind and lying down. She rolled onto her stomach to get comfy, accidently pinning Sherlock's arm beneath her neck. 'Oh, sorry… d'you mind? I sleep better on my stomach.' Sherlock moved his arm slightly, pulling Ruby closer so that her nose was once again pressed against his Adam's apple.

'If you'd stayed where you were, within minutes the blood supply to my lower arm and hand would have been completely cut off. By moving you up here, I should avoid having to amputate my left arm beneath the elbow.' He muttered, his deep voice resonating in time to his Adam's apple moving. Ruby remained quiet and still beside him, taking a few deep breaths to calm her nerves. She suddenly stopped breathing for a moment and comically sniffed Sherlock's skin. She felt him become rigid as she did this.

'Did you just sniff me?' He inquired.

'Yes.' Ruby muttered, drawing a surprising conclusion from what she'd smelt.

'Is my body odour in need of soap?'

'No.' Ruby said truthfully, her eyelashes fluttering closed as she relaxed against the consulting-detective's frame. If she had been fully awake, she might have been terrified by their close position, but she wasn't. The only thought that drifted across her mind as she felt the land of dreams pulling her down was the realisation that Mrs Hudson didn't use any scented laundry detergent when she washed these sheets. The lovely smell as she had realised upon sniffing Sherlock's neck, originated from the dark-haired detective himself.

* * *

**Well well well, what do we think of this chapter? Heh. fluff. I like it in small doses. And I think Ruby deserved some, don't you?**


	21. Chapter 21

**Breaking the Rules**

'Ruby! Wake up!' A sharp voice ordered, roughly shaking her shoulder.

'Mfhmm?'

'John wants to know if you want tea.'

'Tea would be lovely…' Ruby murmured into her pillow.

'So I'm guessing that you'll be wanting a cuppa too, right?' That was odd. John's voice was lacking his usual annoyance at playing Sherlock's housemaid. In fact, he sounded quite… _pleased_ about something. Ruby slowly lifted her heavy eyelids and peered blearily at her surroundings which had adopted a very pale colour. Wondering if she'd become colour-blind whilst sleeping, Ruby removed some of the sleep from her eye and tried this whole seeing lark again.

She immediately wished she hadn't.

That pale colour and her pillow weren't inanimate objects. No such luck, they belonged to the most animate person on the planet and said-person's roommate was grinning down upon their sleepy embrace, his bemused expression roaring with questions – and smugness.

'Have a nice sleep then, Ruby?' He asked casually, trying to keep his smirk hidden, a feat he failed miserably at. Ruby bolted upright, her hair springing to attention as she awkwardly ordered her body to get out of the bed and move as far away from the dark-haired detective – who was completely at ease in this situation – as was at the moment possible.

'Listen, John –' She began while approaching him, her hands splayed outwards as if her fingers would suck the memory of what he'd seen from his brain. She stopped before him, her mouth agape as she tried to find words which didn't stink of "it's not what it looks like" category.

'Um Ruby, if anything of a truly scandalous nature had occurred here, I would of course be _much_ wiser seeing as my room is just above yours.' John muttered while pointing to the ceiling. 'You see, Mrs Hudson is right about the thinness of these old floor boards…' Ruby's cheeks adopted the same colour of her name as she spluttered incomprehensively. 'And if I remember correctly, you take no sugar in your tea, only milk.' He added before reversing out of the room, his eyes gleaming with mischief before disappearing into the kitchen, the door swinging shut on Ruby's scarlet face.

'Why are you embarrassed? There's no need to be embarrassed unless there's something you feel particularly humiliated about.' Sherlock's deep voice reeled off, the detective slowly turning so his eyes lazily peered up at her.

'Oh, I don't know Sherlock. There seems no _possible_ reason why I might be mortified that your roommate stumbled upon us having our little sleepover!' Ruby hissed, her cheeks threatening to never revert back to their normal paleness.

'Oh calm down, there's no need for dramatics. It's not like he took a photo of us and uploaded it to his blog. Well he tried to, but I managed to delete it before the upload was complete –'

'He took a _photo_ of us?' Ruby's voice rose in thirds.

'I really don't see what you're getting so upset about.'

'If that reaches the internet, my work – everyone's going to think –'

'Oh who cares what people think?!' Sherlock scoffed before flipping over, his face buried in the pillows.

'_I_ do!' Ruby snapped, addressing the black mop of curls instead of Sherlock's face.

'Well maybe you should stop with that nonsense, you'd be much less dour I'm sure.' His words were muffled by the pillows acting as a mattress for his face. Ruby crossed to the other side of the room, leapt onto the bed and forcefully turned Sherlock around.

'If you don't care what people think then why did you bother deleting the upload?' Ruby snarled, practically spitting her words out.

'Isn't it obvious?' He asked with a tired roll of his eyes.

'No you arrogant sod, it _isn't_!'

'I'm a brilliant, consulting detective who constantly stirs up trouble in the wrong part of town. I have countless enemies, enemies who are constantly trying to pry for a weakness. They've tried John before, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson too but to no avail. They have been incorruptible. However, if they were to ever receive the impression that I had time for a significant other – which to save you heart ache I will firmly say I _don't_ as I'm married to my work – then there would be nothing these people wouldn't do to get their hands on this person – which that photo implied was _you_ – and no harm they would be unwilling to inflict in order to gain leverage on me, not to mention cause you pain.' If it were possible, Ruby's cheeks went redder. '_How_ does that increase your mortification?' Sherlock demanded, propping himself up, his eyes scanning her enflamed face intently. Ruby shook her head for a moment before leaning forward and planting a firm kiss on Sherlock's high cheek. His impatient expression comically transformed into one of dumbfounded suspicion as Ruby delicately got off the bed and began picking up whatever belongings had strayed around the room.

'That was very sweet of you Sherlock.' She eventually muttered when the dark haired detective's eyes continued to follow her around his tastefully decorated room.

'It wasn't _sweet_, it was _logical_.' He automatically argued, falling back onto the bed once again. Ruby picked up her phone from the bedside table and pocketed her cigar case which was now empty of its treasure cigarette. She strode towards one of the windows, unlatched the heavy glass and stuck a hand into the London air.

'It's a bit chilly outside, even for May. D'you mind if I borrow one of your scarves?' She asked.

'But I'm wearing a scarf today.'

'You have a very meticulous way of dressing Sherlock; I'd say you have at least twenty scarves in your wardrobe.'

'Are you going to ask me for my coat as well?' He asked disparagingly.

'I'd never dream of committing such a mortal sin.'

'There's a navy one behind the door. Take it but be warned; I won't forget I leant it to you.'

'Thanks Sherlock.' She murmured as she fastened the blue material around her neck, the knot nestling against her throat. 'I'm going to head into the station, catch up on some paperwork.'

'Dull.'

'I'm only telling you in case you might, er, need me.'

'I think we both know I could have figured that one out.' Sherlock said silkily, rolling into a more comfortable position on the bed.

'Have a good day Sherlock.' Ruby murmured, approaching the bed once again.

'Are you expecting me to wish you some sort of optimistic fortune-telling?'

'No. Just wanted to say… thanks. You know; for everything.' She nodded awkwardly, rolling her weight backwards and forwards on her feet before striding out of the room, shutting the door on the world's most interesting sociopath in the process.

* * *

If all the paperwork from all of the police stations worldwide was piled together to create one massive bonfire, would the flames ever go out?

Ruby found herself pondering this delicious question as she finally signed off on her last official case in which the murderer had committed suicide, willing himself to drown instead of answer for his double homicide. Shots had been fired – and shots always meant paperwork. The young detective stretched for a moment, her hands reaching for the ceiling before finally leaving the deserted office. She swung her bag onto her shoulder, wondering if she'd catch a film before going home. "Behind The Candelabra" was one she'd been meaning to see for _ages _and only now, after balancing the demands of her job with the almost constant drain of her private time being spent on Sherlock's case, could she have the opportunity to do so. A man lounging at the entrance of the station however, quickly put those thoughts to an unchartered part of her mind.

'What are you doing here Leo?' Ruby snapped as she passed his relaxed figure. He was the last thing she needed right now.

'Nice to see you too Detective Red. I just popped by, you know, to see why you never called.' The way he phrased the question, so innocently, without any care for its consequences was something to be admired. Really, that level of ignorance was so rare these days.

'Hm, gosh Leo, it seems so out of character for a detective _not_ to call one of her former convicts and ask him out for a drink. I really am quite the monster.'

'No need for the snippy-snappy retorts. I just wanted a straight answer.'

'Well, you got one.'

'So if you didn't work here, at my most _favourite_ station, we'd be going to a bar right now?'

'That depends.'

'On what?'

'If in this indulgent, alternate reality of yours, would you still be a meth king?'

'Meth king? You shower me with honours I do not deserve detective.' He mock bowed to her before following her long strides away from the station.

'You know, if you keep following me, I can very easily arrest you for a little crime known as stalking.'

'I don't think you'd do that.'

'Oh? And what gives you such ludicrous self-confidence?'

'You like me too much.' His eyes smiled down at her, the fringe kept at bay from falling into his eyes as he shoved a hand through the tousled locks.

'You flatter yourself without any encouragement.'

'Do I? I personally disagree, my premise being derived from the little-known fact that you took the beermat with my number on it home.'

'I didn't.' Ruby said stoically, trying to forget that said-beermat was on her coffee table at home.

'Really?

'I think I'd remember if I made such a stupid mistake.' She rounded on Leo and stopped in a deserted car park. 'Look, I'd imagine most women my age would kill to have someone as _bad _or as _handsome _or maybe even as _powerful _as you.'

'You really think I'm handsome?' He asked with a raised eyebrow.

'Yes.' Ruby said coldly. 'I also know you're too smart to be wanting to tango with a police officer just because you like the way she runs, or what stupid colour she dyes her hair. Why you want to get into the pants of a detective is something which troubles me. Are things so bad in your little underworld that you need a bent cop in your back pocket to help you out?'

'Bent cops are easy enough to find but it's wise not to date them. And it's not the reason I'm interested in you.' He finished in a low voice.

'Then why? What's so fantastic about me?' Ruby asked sarcastically.

'I don't know. That's what I was hoping I might figure out, if you gave me the chance. Which I can clearly see now, you're not going to. Fair enough. I'll leave you alone but if you change your mind, you know how to contact me.' Before Ruby could say another word, Leo sharply turned around and stalked off beneath a busy London bridge, pulling up the blue hood of his jumper and shoving his hands into his pockets.

A tense cab ride home later, Ruby found herself restlessly pacing the lengthy living room of the Intercontinental Suite; she was in no mood to see a movie right now. Her plasma screen TV beeped and she hurriedly turned it on to find one video message waiting to be played. Ruby angrily flung herself onto arguably the world's comfiest couch and pressed play. It was the second worst mistake of the day as Ruby's mother, clad in her usual designer armour, appeared on screen.

'Excellent, this is exactly what I need!' She roared at the empty room. Her mother blinked at the screen for a moment, the HD screen doing nothing to hide the obvious botox injected into her forehead, cheeks, chin and unfortunately lips. The jewel nestled at her throat would have paid for an entire year's stay at this suite not to mention throwing in an expensive car and perhaps a rolex watch. Her carefully made-up face had a professional dimension to it as did her hair, all freshly applied by experts just to leave this little message.

Her mother's appearance sickened her.

'Hello my dearest daughter, you are not at home which I find a very strange occurrence seeing as it is only ten o'clock on a Saturday morning. But no matter, I am sure you will have the decency to pick up the phone as soon as you get this message, replying promptly with your answer. As you are aware, your father and I are approaching the distinguished milestone of forty years of marriage. You yourself took your pretty little time to arrive into our lives but being such young newlyweds, him twenty-one and I nineteen, that we were but thirty when you arrived. I have the utmost confidence you remember the date of our marriage as it was emblazoned on the mirror in the library where you spent so much of your time. A celebration will take place at our mansion and if the weather decides to bless us with a typical English summer's day, the grounds will be filled with the most luscious activities. Feel free to bring a plus one, your father and I are always willing to meet any such persons who hold a special place in your heart, be they a suitable candidate of course. Farewell for now.'

Her mother's well-powdered face vanished and with it went Ruby's patience and self-restraint. Feeling particularly reckless and infuriated by the thought of returning to her so-called home to honour her parents' marriage, her blood began to boil to spattering degrees. She picked up the phone but did not return the call to her dearest mother, punching in another number instead. She waited anxiously for the other person at the end of the phone to pick up, knowing that if it went to the answering machine, she would have to give up. It had to be now.

On the last ring, the phone was hurriedly answered.

'Hello?' The speaker asked. Ruby swallowed for a moment, gathering her last minute self-destructive behaviour and spoke a dastardly line down the phone.

'Hi Leo, it's Ruby Smith. Listen about that drink…'

* * *

**Hehe, I enjoyed writing this chapter tremendously. Brownie points to you if you figured out who Ruby was calling at the end! **


	22. Chapter 22

**Never Trust A Consulting Detective**

**_Beep_**

_Go away._

**_Beep_**

_Seriously. Go._

**_Beep_**

_You think you can win this?_

**_Beep_**

_Your stubbornness is impressive, not to mention desperate._

**_Beep Beep_**

_Please just leave me alone!_

**_Beep_**

_Shut. Up._

**_Beep_**

_The hangover in me is politely telling you to fuck off._

**.**

**.**

**.**

**_Beep Beep Beep_**

_Whoever invented this blasted contraption, I'm going to find their grave, resurrect them, then kill them._

**_Beep_**

_Slowly._

**_Beep_**

Ruby threw the covers from her tired and wrecked body, her clumsy fingers grasping the horrible mobile which had disturbed her peaceful slumber. She turned on the screen to find not one, not two but _thirteen _different messages from the world's most annoying detective. She brushed her hair from her eyes and started scrolling through the messages.

**_7:01._**

_-Come to Bakerstreet at once. SH_

**_7:02._**

_-Think you might find something of interest. SH_

**_7:04._**

_-On your way yet? SH_

**_7:06._**

_-Probably not as you were drinking heavily last night. SH_

**_7:07._**

_-With a companion. SH_

**_7:09._**

_-Figured out how I deduced that? SH_

**_7:12._**

_-Of course you haven't so come to Bakerstreet. SH_

**_7:15._**

_-The entire world's safety revolves around your decision to vacate your bed. SH_

**_7:16._**

_-No, wait. That message is meant for me, not you. SH_

**_7:17._**

_-Obviously you're not that important. SH_

**_7:19._**

_-Don't bother with breakfast. It will only slow you down. SH_

**_7:20_**

_-Why stay in bed when the criminal world is being so delightfully interesting? SH_

**_7:23_**

_-I think an intervention needs to be staged regarding your addiction to sleep. SH_

If Ruby didn't know the man, she'd have concluded he was some sort of psycho obsessive stalker. He was obsessive, there was no doubt about that, but she was not the cause of his determination. The case and the case alone produced that endless drive to solve what no-one else could. She rubbed some sleep from her eyes and quickly tapped back a response, knowing full well she was seconds from starting a text war.

**_7:25_**

_-No._

_-No? SH_

_-No._

_-Need I remind you that as I am allowing you in on this private case of mine, if you don't fully cooperate with me, I'll have you cast out? SH_

_-No._

**_7:26_**

_-Is "No" the only word in your textual vocabulary? SH_

_-No._

_-Your humour is astounding. SH_

_-How would you know? You don't have a sense of humour. RS_

_-Your originality is as confounding as your wit. SH_

**_7:27_**

_-A good writer borrows, a great writer steals. RS_

_-I'm presuming the "RS" stands for something? SH_

_-Ruby Smith, genius._

_-You made the mistake of believing the initials SH stand for Sherlock Holmes. SH_

_-They don't? RS_

_-No. SH_

_-Then what do they stand for?_

_-SH: Stupendously Handsome._

**_7:28_**

_-Stupendously handsome?_

_- Obviously. SH_

_- And I'd advise you against using the initials RS. SH_

_-Why's that?_

_-The public at large will presume it stands for "Ridiculously Stupid" SH_

_-At least allow them to figure that out on their own. SH_

**_7:29_**

_-Why do you need me at Bakerstreet?_

_-Come and see. SH_

_-And if I have better things to be doing?_

_-What could be more interesting than what I have to offer? SH_

**_7:30_**

_-I don't know; that companion you spoke of earlier is being rather distracting. To put it "delicately" he's providing a very persuasive argument as to why I should stay in bed._

_-That was phrased quite crudely, not delicately. SH_

_-Sarcasm, Sherlock._

_-I knew that. SH_

**_7:31_**

_-No you didn't._

_-You're still lying. SH_

_-About WHAT?_

_-Your companion. There's no-one sleeping beside you. SH_

_-Are you lying under my bed?_

_-No. It's dusty under there. SH_

_-Might ruin your scarf and coat?_

_-Exactly. SH_

**_7:32_**

_-So if you're not under my bed, then how do you know if I have company?_

_-I know you. SH_

_-So?_

_-Isn't it obvious? SH_

**_7:32_**

_-Not to me._

_-I suppose it's never evident to you idiots. SH_

_-Thanks love._

_-Sarcasm? SH_

_-No shit Sherlock._

_-Assonance combined with swearing. I've seen worse. SH_

_-…Was that a compliment?_

**_7:33_**

_-I'll let you draw your own conclusions on that front. And you possess principals too mighty for a new man to gain access to your luxurious apartment never mind your bedroom. As I said before: Obvious. SH_

_-Feel free to compliment my engorged intellect. SH_

_-Engorged…?_

_-It's a perfectly good adjective which was well suited to describing my superior intelligence. SH_

_-Just don't say that in public._

_-Actually wait. Forget I said that. Do. In front of Anderson._

_-I avoid that idiot's company at all costs. SH_

_-Unless Lestrade forces me to endure his presence for a case. SH_

**_7:34_**

_-You're hopeless. SH_

_-And why am I hopeless?_

_-You're still in bed. SH_

_-Get up. SH_

_-No._

_-Now. SH_

**_7:35_**

_-Sherlock, it's Sunday._

_-I'm more than aware of what day it is, hence why I'm bombarding you with messages until you stop being lazy. SH_

_-And if I turn my phone off?_

**_7:36_**

_-I'll ring the Intercontinental Suite. SH_

_-And if I take the phone off the hook?_

_-You really want to know what I'll do? SH_

_-The suspense is teasing my jugular with a sharp knife._

**_7:37_**

_-Why must you romanticise everything? It's annoying. SH_

_-I'm an artist at heart._

_-Bad heart then. SH_

**_7:38_**

_- And if you don't get up, I'll ring the authorities claiming to have knowledge of a person wanting to jump off the roof of the Intercontinental Suite. We'll see if the police let you have your lie-in when they think you're trying to off yourself. SH_

_-You're evil._

_-Thank you, though I believe the adjective you were seeking was brilliant. It's the one you've used most to describe my talents. SH_

**_7:39_**

_-I wouldn't be surprised if you were here, hiding in my wardrobe and cursing me for not having any fur coats to conceal yourself beneath._

_-Fur coats are an unnecessary accessory. You're still in bed. SH_

_-I'm feeling rather lazy today._

**_7:40_**

_-I have Lestrade's number on speed dial. SH_

_-You won't call him._

_-Oh? SH_

_-You might text him, you hate calling people. And he won't take a text like that seriously._

_-If I phrase it right, he will. SH_

**_7:41_**

_-If I come over there and find that you want me to open a window, or write down a phone number, I will not be responsible for my actions._

_-An open window is of vital importance, my brain rots without fresh air. SH_

_-Sherlock…_

_-It's of crucial importance that you come. By staying in bed, this case will fail to progress. SH_

**_7:42_**

_-Ruby Smith, will you come? SH_

**_7:43_**

_-The Mastercard is calling to know if you want to catch her. SH_

**_7:44_**

_I'm quite relentless where texting is concerned, or so I've been told. SH_

**_7:45_**

_-If it'll stop you burying me beneath a mountain of messages; fine. I'm getting up._

_-Excellent. SH_

**_7:47_**

_-Oh, and SH doesn't stand for Stupendously Handsome._

_-No? SH_

_-Then what do you believe it stands for? SH_

**_7:48_**

_-I think Secretly Helpful fits you better._

_-That makes one of us. Now get dressed. SH_

**_7:50_**

_-And bring a red roll of thread with you, thirty feet in length, 10mm in breadth. SH_

* * *

**This was unexpectedly hard to write. I feel a huge surge of respect for those who specialize in writing one shots or stories in this format. Texting is tough!**


	23. Chapter 23

**An Odd Request **

_Flump!_

Down went the green top over Ruby's head.

_Yoink! _

Up went the dark pair of corduroy trousers.

_Scrag!_

Across went the laces of well-worn sneakers.

After stifling a yawn, Ruby began the arduous process of attaching a pair of braces sporting the British flag over her t-shirt, trying to avoid over-extending the elastic and earning a black eye as a result of Hook's law. She eventually clipped the stubborn accessory in place and declared war on her hair by pulling a brush through the crimson locks. She sighed while checking her roots, realising the troublesome natural blonde was vying for attention amongst the searing red. Ruby searched around her bed for a hat which would hide this annoying development but instead discovered a small stack of books which had no right to be in any law-abiding, non-bent cop's apartment.

Yet there they were, books on graffiti, their colourful covers screaming for Ruby to pick one up. Should she leaf through Kai Jakob's intimate examination of _Street Art in Berlin_, where photographs and detailed paragraphs described the different branches of graffiti? Or perhaps Banksy's _Wall and Piece_ where the notorious street artist declared war on capitalism and was almost as anti-materialistic as Tyler Durden from Fight Club? Banksy's opinions on the use of public space were fascinating, not to mention logical. What was it he'd said again? It was to do with advertising… ah yes! It was entitled "Brandalism" and it stated that any "…advertisement in public space that gives you no choice whether you see it or not is yours. It belongs to you. It's yours to take, re-arrange and re-use. Asking for permission is like asking to keep a rock someone just threw at your head."

A smaller book nestled between these thick monsters demanded some attention. Compiled by the artist "KET" it simply housed a hundred images of the best graffiti around the world. Most works displayed different fonts utilised to write the artist's tag which is generally believed to be the pinnacle of this art form. But others from different branches such as bombing and street art were also included, too good to be excluded from this clique.

Two weeks ago, Ruby didn't care about graffiti or the reason behind vandals spraying paint upon unblemished walls. The last time she displayed interest in such confrontational art was over a decade ago during her years at school. The new passion had been ignited by all things bad manifested in the handsome form of Leo Shannon. A man whose company she was enjoying far too much and who's influence was casually meddling with her iron principals. For example, the next time Ruby caught someone defacing a billboard plastered over a bus station or smeared across a bridge, she might just let them carry on…

They'd gone for a drink as Ruby had previously suggested and after the success of that "date" (one which filled Ruby with both exhilaration and dread) they'd agreed to meet up once again. Last night had been their third excursion and as Sherlock had correctly deduced (God only knows how) Leo and her had shared a few alcoholic beverages. The headache banging against the inside of her skull argued how the word "some" was far too lenient a term to employ concerning the amount of alcohol she'd consumed throughout that night. After having a few beers at Leo's favourite bar, he'd decided to ignore all social conventions demanding they go for dinner and had promised to take her somewhere far more interesting instead. This involved grabbing a cab to the "bad" side of town and a sense of fear buried beneath alcohol and naivety only burrowed to the surface as Ruby had been guided into an elevator which descended into arguably the dodgiest part of London.

However, upon arriving at their destination, Ruby was astonished to find no men in balaclavas ready to kill her at a moment's notice; instead there was a graffiti competition between two crews about to begin. They were waiting for their judge – a man who so happened to be exiting the elevator with detective Ruby Smith. Ruby's first thoughts as she'd observed her surroundings had been to try to shut this illegal gathering down, but as the spray cans were lifted and the battle began, all such thoughts were swiftly wiped from her mind. She was, as the crew painting police officers constantly liked to inform her, a pig. However, her red hair allowed her to blend in with the colourful crowd without arousing suspicion, letting Ruby achieve something unprecedented: she was allowed to watch the on-goings of the two crews with unscreened enjoyment. The battle had lasted for an hour and the works of art produced by the two crews were quite simply; astounding. Leo had after much deliberation selected a winner and more alcohol was consumed to toast the victors.

After walking Ruby to a not-so-dodgy part of London and hailing her a cab, Leo had bent down and pressed his lips against her own for a few seconds, a clumsy embrace thanks to the alcohol but one which Ruby did not pull away from. A glimpse of those laughing brown eyes shimmering with victory was the last thing she remembered before being bundled into the taxi and shooting off to a soft bed and a Sunday morning lie-in. Unfortunately for Ruby, she'd been rudely awoken by a brash series of messages from the world's only consulting detective, quickly reminding her of the irresponsible amount of alcohol she'd consumed the previous night.

Ruby closed the thought-provoking book and hurried out of her suite, wondering when Leo would next want to meet, and trying to figure out where in London a shop might have for sale, a roll of thread which satisfied the criteria Sherlock had laid out for her.

* * *

'Did you get it?' Sherlock barked as Ruby entered the dishevelled living room of 221b.

'Yes, I got it.' Ruby grumbled, suppressing the urge to rant about the five different knitting shops she'd had to visit to find the correct thread for Sherlock.

'Here.' Sherlock commanded, springing to his feet and placing his hand out. Ruby dropped the scarlet thread into Sherlock's hand who immediately set to work, using a thumb-tack to place the end of one thread in the wall next to the brazen smiley face before striding across the room and unwinding the length of thread as he walked, pinning it against the upper-hand corner of the mirror.

'On the kitchen table there's a clear box with a lid. Bring it to me.' He ordered as he tested the tenacity of the extended thread. Ruby fetched the required item and stifled further questions. Sherlock was by definition a show-off, he would explain the brilliance of his eccentricities in his own time. If she questioned him when he was in the middle of said brilliant plan, he'd bite her head off.

'Here you go.' Ruby muttered, her curiosity burning a hole in her vocal chords as she placed the box on a table.

'Open it.'

Ruby popped the lid open and found an array of clippings to feast her eyes on. She eventually discerned names and faces from the tangled lot, not to mention a generous handful of delicate clothes pegs. She glanced at the extended red line and then suddenly connected the two, smiling as she drew her conclusion. Soon the contents of the box had been overturned and each scrap of paper was turned right-side up. Sherlock started grabbing pictures at random and pinning them to the red thread.

'And this is…?' Ruby eventually blustered, unable to keep her curiosity at bay.

'John's love life.' Sherlock responded, observing the time line of the not-so-long-lasting relationships of John Watson.

'You think the Mastercard was one of John's ex's?' Ruby asked.

'Nope.'

'_What_?'

'If it_ were_ one of John's ex's, they would have no need to send the overwhelming gesture of a giant diamond. No, this is a woman who is desperate for his attention because she never once received it, despite John's relationships lasting as long as one of my cases.'

'So why bother with the time line?'

'Oh Ruby, your mind is quite astonishing.' Ruby stared at Sherlock for a moment, not quite comprehending that the sentence had come from him, despite witnessing his lips form each vowel.

'Sorry… _astonishing_?' Ruby didn't realise Sherlock's compliments extended outside of the reach of "nice" and "good".

'Yes, so serene, calm, unquestioning, blind and blissfully ignorant. It must be so mellow inside your little brain.' He then lay down on the floor and peered up at the timeline dangling above him like a child's toy.

'Cheers.' Ruby said heavily, shaking her head before making her way into the kitchen.

'Just tea for me.' Sherlock called from his slumped position.

'I'm not making you tea.'

'And why not?'

'Because you still haven't told me why you nagged me out of bed this morning and demanded my presence here!'

'Oh. That.' Sherlock stretched, the feline movement allowing his hands to reach up for the timeline dangling above him, the gap an impossible one to traverse. 'I need a favour.'

'Another one?'

'Yes. This is important.'

'It better be more important than red thread Sherlock.'

'Oh, a matter of life and death. There's something I need you to teach me.'

'_Me_? Teach _you_?'

'Yes.' His head tilted as he observed her from his sprawled position on the floor.

'What could the great Sherlock Holmes need to be taught by a lowly detective like me?' Ruby mused, leaning against the sliding door of the kitchen. Sherlock jumped to his feet, the movement so fluid he almost blurred for a moment. He straightened his askew suit-jacket before walking purposefully forward, the lighting making it appear as if some ethereal creature was stalking towards Ruby, so prominent were his cheekbones. He continued forward into Ruby's personal space, forcing her against the sheet of glass.

'Sherlock...' Ruby growled warningly.

'Yes?' He asked innocently.

'Is this encroachment of personal space _really_ necessary?'

'Oh, I'm afraid so.'

'What's this favour?'

'A small lesson I wish you to teach me.' If Sherlock took another step forward, he'd be crushing Ruby's feet.

'Which is…?'

'Oh, only a trivial thing. Over in five minutes. Plus you'll be glad to hear that it doesn't involve leaving the flat.'

'That's nice. But what is it?'

'First, you must agree to do this small thing for me before I ask it.'

'No way.'

'Don't you trust me?' He was practically purring.

'No.'

'Good idea, it would be most unwise of you to do so.' His eyes quickly scanned over her face, resting longest on her nose, forehead and lips. 'This favour doesn't compromise your safety.'

'It's still a no Sherlock.'

'Why?'

'I don't like working with senseless mystery if I can help it.'

'A valid conclusion to draw, but I was hoping you'd be willing to push the boundaries in this case.'

'Why? Because it's you, the great Sherlock Holmes and therefore I should surrender all of my principals and be an obedient little puppy?' Sherlock raised and dropped his eyebrows and a small smile twitched at his lips.

'I suppose not.' He muttered, his eyes x-raying her defiant face once again.

'You're afraid to ask me for this favour.'

'Oh am I?' He challenged.

'Isn't it obvious?' Ruby's brain practically vibrated after using the detective's favourite taunt against him. 'Why would you try cajoling me into submission by employing cowardly techniques if you weren't afraid?'

'Perhaps it's a test of your knowledge concerning my character. Or maybe, it might just be a test to see whether you will trust me enough to blindly go where I direct you.'

'And why would I do that?'

'For your own safety because I _always_ know what's best for those around me, they are almost always however, too idiotic to listen to me.'

'When the situation is dire enough, you _know_ I will always heed your advice.' Ruby said fiercely, startling the detective with the passion painting her words. She glared at his haughty face, her chosen form of rebuttal resulting in their faces being mere inches apart. 'Now get over yourself Sherlock and have the balls to ask me up front what this "favour" is.' Wolves would be proud of the way Ruby snarled these words. Sherlock held her glare with a nonchalance most men ached to possess, allowing the eye contact to continue without descending into an awkward staring contest.

'Alright. It's quite simple really.'

'Simple?'

'Yes.' He said, his brows pulling together in neat unison.

'And what is this so-called _simple_ request?'

Sherlock took a deep breath and expelled the air slowly, his lean shoulders rising and falling with the small exertion. He looked… doubtful? No, that wasn't possible. This was Sherlock Holmes, the man who could see through all people within seconds. He didn't know what doubt _was_.

'To put it quite simply Ruby, I need you to teach me how to convince a woman I'm madly in love with her.'

'Okay…'

'Okay?'

'I have a feeling that isn't the real request….' Sherlock's lip quirked at this.

'Obviously to persuade a woman of my affection… I'll have to back my declaration with evidence of a… _physical_… nature.'

Ruby's eyes widened comically.

'_Physical_?' She managed to whisper, her eyes beginning to water from their permanently widened status.

'You're still not getting this are you?' Sherlock said deploringly while shaking his head. 'Fine, allow me to phrase this indelicately for the sake of the case: I need you, to teach me…'

'Teach you what?' Ruby rasped.

Sherlock sighed, placing a hand on the glass sheet Ruby was pressed against, his scintillating gaze boring into her own.

'How to kiss someone.'

* * *

**Yes before you point out this out of character request from Sherlock, let me just say that there ****_is _****a rational explanation behind his actions. Promise. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, I felt it was quite risky! But wait until the next one! **


	24. Chapter 24

**Exhausted Boundaries. **

Ruby was familiar with many different types of silence.

The awkward silence.

The jealous silence.

The grieving silence.

The scheming silence.

Even the dying silence.

She had never, in her twenty-nine years, come across this particular silence. It was unusual on many fronts as it followed a request loaded with ulterior motives, motives which Ruby couldn't even begin to fathom. Sherlock Holmes, _The_ Sherlock Holmes, wanted her, Ruby Smith, to teach him how to kiss.

Eh, _what_?

This train of thought attracted her attention to his lips. The movement of her gaze was so sudden, you'd have sworn Sherlock's lips were dipped in nickel and her eyes were magnets irresistibly drawn to the source. His mouth was placed conveniently within what most would call kissing territory: less than a foot away.

Plush.

Feather-soft.

Sharply hewn.

Slightly parted…

The thought of kissing Sherlock was one Ruby had never allowed herself to entertain as it would lead to travelling a bleak path with no hope of returned affection from the emotionally-stunted detective. The only person Ruby knew who indulged such fantasies was Molly Hooper, and the way Sherlock manipulated the mortician had been a loud warning for the red-haired detective to swiftly avoid this path.

Yet the fact remained that she _was_ considering his request, wondering if those lips felt as soft as they looked. She hesitantly raised her eyes to meet the searing gaze of those turbulent, restless orbs. Watching, always observing and calculating. She glanced at his hand placed on the glass door, practically cornering her and cutting off any chance of a physical escape. Well, now she thought about it, she was more being _forced _to think about teaching this embrace. It was hardly as if the thought had spontaneously popped into her head.

'Why? Why do you need to learn how to kiss?' It took a second longer than normal for Ruby to realise the words were coming from her own mouth. Did she normally sound this… demanding?

'As I've already said, I need to convince a woman of my affection and to do so; my physical actions must be up to scratch. If they're not, the lady will be full of suspicion and the case will fall to pieces.'

'But why me?'

'I was hardly going to ask John was I?'

Ruby chuckled, dispelling some of the suffocating tension.

'I think I might make up with my parents just to witness that conversation.' Ruby murmured, a glazed look steeling over her eyes. 'Anyway, I still don't understand that for this "request" you concluded I should be your mentor.'

'You were the logical choice.'

'Pfft, really?'

'You disagree?'

'Don't you think there's a certain mortician who might benefit from playing teacher here?' Sherlock rolled his eyes, the movement seeming more dramatic than normal.

'If ever I was stupid enough to word such a request to my mortician, I would witness either one of two things: Firstly, a panic attack. Secondly, a bout of fainting. Not exactly what I'm looking for in a teacher. Plus, there's the simple fact that you're better.'

'_Better_?'

'Whenever I learn something new, I tend to look to experts for advice.'

'But, how the _hell_ would you know if I was… better?'

'John.'

'What about him?'

'He told me. Right after you executed your inelegant plan to rid him of his ex-girlfriend. His phrasing was akin to "Bloody hell; that was some kiss." To which, if memory serves – and it always does as its mine we're talking about – I told him to shut up.'

Phantasmagorical. A series of events or images with a dream-like quality. Her favourite word. She'd never truly experienced the sensation before but boy, if a pompous word was needed to describe this scene; that would have to do.

'Sherlock, this is just –'

'Unless your hesitation is prompted by something other than shock, such as wanting to stay faithful to this new companion of yours.' Stabs of worry painted her stomach as the arrogant baritone delicately phrased this.

'What "companion" are you talking about?' Ruby snapped, staring resolutely ahead and ignoring the probing gaze of the man who could tell when anyone was lying.

'We just discussed him this morning by text, don't you remember?' He purred, still intruding on her personal space.

'We also discussed the reasons why you don't hide beneath my bed. Dust, wasn't it?' Ruby retorted, still staring ahead, her gaze fixated on the deer's head mounted on the opposite wall.

'So you don't have another interested party.'

'No.'

'You're sure?'

'Yes.'

'Because if you did, and you decided that you would become my teacher; that would make you… ah what is the dull expression? Hmm… '

'But Sherlock –'

'Unfaithful.'

Ruby took a deep breath and tried her best to orate a level train of thought. 'In this hypothetical situation then yes. I suppose it would be "unfaithful" as you so aptly phrased it. But as I've already told you, I _don't_ have another interested party.' Ruby's words were hard to discern as her teeth ground against one another. 'And stop presuming I'm going to help you.' She added.

'This is quite a rare opportunity; I don't see why you'd want to turn it down.' Sherlock wasn't being arrogant when he said this, just hugely narcissistic.

'Hang on. You're insinuating that perhaps this is some perk for me? To teach you this… embrace?'

'Obviously.' Correction, arrogance was mixed in with narcissism and it was grating against Ruby's nerves.

Did she want to continue with Leo or have a chance to kiss the world's only consulting detective? That was the offer Sherlock presented though it seemed she was in the clear with concerns to Sherlock being suspicious of her activities with the charming criminal. He seemed to presume it was some "boring" relationship not worthy of her time such as what had happened when he'd stormed in on her date with Francis a couple of weeks ago.

'This is too weird Sherlock. The answer's no.' She muttered, suddenly finding her shoes very interesting as she worded this dismissal.

'It happens between friends at one point or another, it's almost a rite of passage. Just skin against skin.' Sherlock recited.

'Sorry, _what_?' Ruby was beyond bewildered; this situation was so uncalled for. Sherlock slowly leant forwards, initially sending panic signals racing throughout Ruby's tense frame, but he deviated to the right and settled on breathing a single sentence into her ear.

'When you were describing to me the laid-back ethics regarding a kiss, those were the _exact_ words you employed, detective.' He stayed there for a moment longer than necessary, his warm breath spilling onto the exposed skin of her neck. Ruby remained perfectly still, concentrating on her breathing and trying to ignore the uncertain thump of her fickle heart.

'Those might have been my words Sherlock, but my answer's still no.' Ruby said slowly, her hands fastening onto Sherlock's angular shoulders and pushing him away, ignoring the unexpected thought that she should be pulling him closer instead.

'No?' Sherlock snarled, his hands suddenly reaching up and grasping beneath Ruby's elbows so their arms connected in an odd sort of circle.

'No.' She replied firmly, not liking how her attempt at reclaiming her personal space had been so easily thwarted.

'Why?' Sherlock demanded.

'Because this isn't what friends do!' She blustered, dropping her hands from his shoulders. Sherlock's hands tightened around her elbows and sharply tugged her towards him. There was no space between their bodies and Ruby found the heat radiating from Sherlock's finely dressed form rather – distracting.

'What do you mean this isn't what friends do? You said so yourself that this is _exactly_ what friends do.'

'Never mind what I said, you _claimed _our relationship was just a hybrid between friendship and some form of acquaintance!' Ruby argued, her eyes blazing with anger, though doing nothing to pull her body away from his.

'Obviously that's changed since you had your little melt down.'

'Don't you _dare _bring that up.' Ruby hissed, almost spitting in Sherlock's face. She breathed heavily for a moment, genuinely surprised that no steam billowed from her nostrils. Her eyes dropped, as she grappled with her flared temper. 'So what… are we friends now?' She eventually asked; surprised by how this titbit of information was still so important to her.

'Were you really so ignorant of this development –'

'Shut _up_ Sherlock!'

'Problem?'

Ruby exhaled sharply.

'The problem Sherlock is your, your _coldness_! This is something which is supposed to be fun and here you are sucking all of the passion from it and reducing this supposedly intimate embrace down to some variable in an experiment of yours!'

'Disagreeing with my motives shouldn't stop you from teaching me.'

'Yes. It. Should!'

'But it can't be the only motivation for rejecting this suggestion. Is it to do with more primitive nuances? Aesthetics for example?'

'Sherlock… that's not even relevant!' Ruby yelled, banging a closed fist against one of his shoulders. 'There's also the fact that you're perfectly sober asking me this, usually when these events happen, alcohol is present in the system.'

'There's an off license just around the corner –'

'Sherlock! No!' She snapped.

'Alright.' His hands dropped from her arms. 'Alright. _Fine_. If it's outside of your "comfort-zone" and you feel we aren't "good enough friends" then I'll just have to pay Molly a visit in the morning; I doubt it'll be one which she'll forget in a hurry.'

'No Sherlock.' Ruby growled.

'_Sorry_?'

'I won't let you toy with Molly like that. It isn't fair to her, you mess with her enough already.' Her voice tinkled with ice.

'I do _not_ –' A sharp look quickly stopped Sherlock in his tracks.

'Goodbye Sherlock.' Ruby murmured, finally pulling away from their close position and stalking out of the room. Sherlock watched her leave, hurrying towards his great coat as soon as he heard the front door slam.

'Sherlock? What have you done to upset Ruby?' Mrs Hudson called sternly from downstairs. 'She looked in a right state; I hope you didn't hurt her feelings!'

'Mrs Hudson, SHUT. UP!' Sherlock roared as he fumbled for his phone and quickly tapped out a text which read:

_Jahmene,_

_It seems whatever secret relationship Ruby isn't telling you about is quite serious. After conducting some research, I've concluded she wishes to pursue this relationship and seems quite set on staying faithful to this mysterious man. SH _

Sherlock hit send, smiling slightly as he remembered Jahmene's awkward request concerning spying on his best friend who didn't seem to trust him as much as she used to. Initially Sherlock had dismissed the idea as dull, but with Jahmene being the head mortician at St Bart's, it would be unwise to let an opportunity slide. Favours such as those _always_ came in handy.

Sherlock glanced out of the window to see Ruby casting a furious glance up at 221b as she hailed a cab. He had no time for wondering how he'd evidently upset her, he had much more important information to discover. He needed to find the Mastercard – and soon. Mycroft was getting on his nerves with his constant texting and Sherlock wasn't sure how much more suspense he could take concerning the veiled identity of this female thief. He'd managed to successfully hide his anxiety from Ruby while she was here (though she was rather distracted by the ridiculous "learn how to kiss" request to have noticed his stress. Honestly, he'd over-estimated the red-haired detective; she clearly hadn't been able to deduce any ulterior motives regarding his out-of-the-blue suggestion. _Him_, the greatest detective the world had ever know wanting to deviate from a case to learn how to _kiss_? He'd merely wanted to prove whether she was taking this secret relationship of hers seriously and tell Jahmene of his findings. And as he'd predicted, she'd refused his suggestion as a result of conflicting feelings concerning this new man of hers. The identity of this man was not Sherlock's problem. Case. Solved.) But now she was gone, his worry returned and with it, a tiny little piece of doubt. What if he didn't catch the Mastercard?

Nonsense, he was Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective! If he couldn't find her, no-one could. So in that case, it was time to crank things up a notch and gather new data. Tonight was the night. John would be back from his date with the boring dog groomer (honestly, was there a less menial job in the world?) circa 11 o'clock and together the two of them would leave the apartment and run the errand Sherlock had been putting off for some time. Until then, he had plenty of hours to fill with narrowing the field of suspects concerning the Mastercard. The relevance of John's dating history was to identify previous girlfriends and to look at the friends and family of this boring group of women. Sherlock was certain the Mastercard's identity lay among a relative or friend of the various women clipped to John's unfortunate time-line of relationships. He glanced at the length of red thread stretched across his living room and felt his gut perform a strange pirouette as he remembered how Ruby had forgone her lie-in to bring him this little thing for his case.

Well that was… _odd_.

He wasn't used to having strange twists in his gut. It was rather annoying, not to mention distracting. And if there was one thing Sherlock could do without at the moment, it was distractions.

Sherlock shook the idle thought from his head and sat down at the table. He pulled his laptop closer, yanked open the lid and hurriedly began typing, conducting what he evidently did better than all others of his annoying species:

Research.

* * *

Some three hours later, the door of 221b Bakerstreet slammed shut and its owner, Sherlock Holmes, had spent the past two and a half hours curled up in his armchair, his hands clasped together beneath his chin, deep in thought. Though the door had made a relatively loud noise, it did nothing to jolt Sherlock from his intense reverie as he stormed through his mind palace, searching for something, _anything, _which he'd missed. A clue buried deep which he could utilise to narrow the field further from the list of ten suspects he had. After conducting one final, thorough sweep of the marvellously decorated rooms, he drew one unfortunate conclusion. It was no use; he'd have to risk it. Though interviewing John was going to be a tedious process. He always became so defensive when it came to Sherlock directly questioning him with regards to relationships.

Sherlock glanced up, but just as his eyes drew level with the gaze who'd been watching him for the past twenty minutes, he distinctly remembered hearing the door slam; meaning it was not the woman who refused to admit she was his housekeeper.

'What do you want?' Sherlock barked harshly. The room remained quiet, the tension building nicely and adding a suspense which Sherlock did not have the patience to entertain. 'Are you being intentionally dense? I asked what is it that you want?!' He'd jumped out of his chair by now, his blue dressing gown flapping behind him as he stalked over towards the living room entrance. 'And why do you have…' Sherlock's voice trailed away as he noted the plastic bag containing two bottles of wine and what appeared to be a small bottle of gin. The glass bottles were placed on the floor where they gently clinked against the wooden floorboards.

'God damn it Sherlock, regardless of what spin you put on it, I _am_ your friend and good friends help each other out in troublesome situations and if this is how I can help then let's have it.' Sherlock stared at Ruby for a moment, questioning his epistolary knowledge regarding her existence. It wouldn't be the first time his senses had lied to him.

'But Ruby –'

'Now shut up and get me some glasses, this is going to be a strange night which I don't want either of us remembering very well.' She ordered, picking up the alcohol and pushing him out of her way, trying very hard to keep the whirlwind of emotions which had plagued her over the past couple of hours in check. She was going to do this. It had been decided. Sherlock better have prepared himself for what was going to be their most interesting encounter to date – and for once, his superior intellect wasn't going to place him in charge; Ruby was going to be the one ordering _him_ around.

* * *

**Heh. This was so much fun! Thank you for the reviews, eleven within 48 hours! Never have I received so much love! Hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!**


	25. Chapter 25

**A Friendship is Tested**

'_Sorry_?' Sherlock snapped, not meaning the word as a form of apology but utilising it –as usual– to announce his incredulity at someone's complete stupidity.

'C'mon. Slap me. Don't be such a baby about it.' The red-haired detective cajoled.

'You're giving me permission to slap you.'

'Absolutely, it's all part of the game!'

'I've never heard of such nonsense.'

'Sherlock, I worry about your childhood –'

'Well that's only natural. I did have Mycroft for an older brother.'

'No, not that bombastic twit –'

'Did you just call my brother a bombastic _twit_?'

'You're impressed.'

'Don't be absurd.'

'You _like_ that I insult him. Mycroft's a twit. Mycroft's a dickhead. Mycroft's a bald-headed eagle whose feathers you love to ruffle.'

'_Do_ shut up.' Yet the insult was only half-hearted, Ruby could identify the amusement twinkling in Sherlock's restless eyes. 'You want me to slap you? _Fine_. I guess I find myself in no position but to indulge your childish game.' Sherlock leant forwards, extending his hands across the gap separating them, his fingers pushed together in a praying ensemble. Ruby's hands were in the same position; the tips of their fingers were inches apart. 'So I'm "on" I suppose?' Sherlock mused.

'Yes!' Ruby practically squealed from impatience.

'Have it your way then.' Sherlock's hand shot forward with the full intention of colliding with Ruby's intertwined pair. Ruby was startled by his speed and didn't manage to withdraw her hands on time. With a comic _SMACK! _Sherlock's palm ricocheted off Ruby's praying ensemble, inspiring the blood vessels on the back of her right hand to dilate profusely. Her eyes watered as the slap began smarting, leaving a stinging sensation in its wake.

'Well, I guess we're even now.' She said in a quiet voice, a shaky hand reaching towards her glass of wine as she took a generous gulp.

'Even?' Sherlock's brows furrowed suspiciously.

'I have slapped you before. In the face.'

'Yes that was rather painful. But it's your own fault, this stupid "drinking game" was your idea so you've only yourself to blame.' He said airily, his eyes still rooted to the scarlet skin his slap had inspired. He suddenly jumped to his feet and hurried out of the room.

'Oi! You haven't gone and lost your bottle have you?' Ruby roared after Sherlock's retreating figure. She was only answered by a curious banging noise and she peered around John's armchair to see what exactly was going on in the curious kitchen of 221b Bakerstreet. Her question was soon answered – though the answer didn't appear to make much sense. 'Sherlock… what is that?' Ruby asked quietly as she eyed the bloody bag in Sherlock's hand.

'Oh this? 18 severed ears.' He announced. 'Now put your hand out.'

'No.' Ruby said, immediately cradling the stinging hand against her chest.

'Oh come on, they're _frozen _ears!' Sherlock argued.

'And why should that make any difference – hang on.' Ruby's eyes grew wide when she began following Sherlock's trail of logic. 'No. Absolutely not.'

'I've no ice.'

'So you decided that your bag of frozen ears would be a suitable replacement?'

'There's no flaw behind my logic. The ears would be re-frozen after they began to smell.' Ruby suddenly bolted to her feet, swiped the bag of ears from Sherlock (which she wrinkled her nose at) and hurriedly threw them back into the freezer. She flicked on the tap in the kitchen and grimaced as she ran her hand beneath the cold water. Soon the smarting died away and she dried her hand on a nearby tea-towel. She turned to find Sherlock leaning against the kitchen wall, his eyes watching her intently.

'Are you alright?' Ruby asked, he looked similar to when she'd initially entered 221b; lost somewhere in his mind palace.

'Fine.' He said before walking closer, taking her hand and mechanically examining it.

'Honestly Sherlock, it's fine –'

'I'll be the judge of that.' He quickly gave Ruby her hand back and bolted from the kitchen, his erratic footsteps clambering down the wooden stairs. Ruby stared at the entrance of the kitchen, completely perplexed by his actions. Why was he being so… uncertain?

Ruby actually smacked her hand against her forehead when the answer presented itself. It was so painfully obvious; she felt her I.Q must have reduced by some thirty points to have missed it. Of course Sherlock was acting strange, look at what bizarre events this evening was going to hold! And the frozen ears… He'd felt bad for slapping her and this was him trying to be nice and fix it. Admittedly in his own weird little way.

'Think fast.' Announced Sherlock's voice from the doorway, his returning footsteps missed as a result of Ruby's small epiphany. She caught the bag flung at her head and a small smile pulled at her lips when she realised what it contained:

Ice.

'You asked Mrs Hudson for ice?'

'Asked? A tricky task to carry out when she wasn't there. No, I just took it from her freezer. Along with a mince pie.' He added, biting into the stolen foodstuff with a smirk.

'You just admitted to a police officer that you broke into your landlady's house and stole goods which didn't belong to you.' Ruby said as she placed the ice pack against her hand which was once again, stinging.

'Ah, but you're knowingly using said stolen goods, meaning you're my accomplice. You report this, we both go down.'

'Suppose I'll have to keep my mouth shut then.' Ruby was smiling once again as she walked past the world's most well-dressed detective. 'And… thanks.' She said in a quieter voice as she sat down in John's armchair, her sore hand becoming less of a burden with each passing second. Ruby reached forward and took another sip of wine as Sherlock finished off his mince pie, throwing the wrapper into the dead fireplace as he flung himself into his own armchair. He picked up his violin and began strumming a few chords aimlessly, his eyes glazed over as he was transported to a place far from his own sitting room.

'Sherlock?' No answer. Ruby rolled her eyes before sliding down in her chair, suddenly too lazy to get up. She stretched her leg until her wandering foot came into contact with Sherlock's calf. A calf which soon received a firm prod.

'_What_?' He snapped.

'I have a game.'

'Another one? I'd have thought after the abysmal failure of the previous one, you'd have given up by now.'

'You'll like this one.' Ruby argued as she slowly pulled herself into a normal sitting position. 'It's called: Truth and Lies.'

'Sounds a bit dull.'

'Nah, you'll like it. Basically, you ask me a question, any question at all and I give you an answer. You then have to figure out if I'm lying or telling the truth. If the questioner correctly identifies if the suspect is lying or telling the truth, the suspect has to drink. If the suspect manages to correctly hood-wink the questioner, the questioner must drink.' Sherlock strummed a diminished seventh. 'You see a problem?'

'A pretty obvious one. The "suspect" as you so aptly named them, can be dishonest when they divulge whether the questioner correctly deduced their answer.'

'Well, I'm not going to be dishonest.'

'Of course _you're_ not going to be, you have _me _watching you.'

'And are you going to be dishonest Sherlock?'

'I could be and you'd never know.'

'You won't be.' Ruby said with a smile.

'And why's that?'

'You enjoy playing the game too much.' She muttered before settling into a more comfortable position. Sherlock strummed two chords against the strings of his violin. G major followed by C major; the perfect cadence Ruby understood was his permission to continue with this game. 'I'll start.'

'You really think you can tell when I'm lying or not?' Sherlock asked smugly, placing his violin against his chair before staring haughtily at his companion.

'Let's find out. Alright, something simple to begin with.' Ruby's eyes scanned over the detective and she smiled slightly. How on earth had she managed to persuade him to take part in such a childish game? 'Why did you become a consulting detective?'

'I've always liked puzzles with answers beyond the grasp of the mob and I like working outside of a system with structures which only serve to shackle their employees instead of liberate them.' He said this with his usual deductive air, a stream-of-consciousness technique which both awed and unnerved Ruby.

'You're telling the truth.' She muttered. Sherlock raised an eyebrow before picking up his glass and taking a delicate sip. 'Oh man up and take a proper gulp, would you?' Ruby said quickly. They'd never become intoxicated if little dainty sips of wine were the only punishment of this game.

'My turn.' Sherlock said in a deathly quiet voice and Ruby steeled herself for a moment. The consulting detective wasn't exactly abiding by laws which society deemed "decent" meaning he could ask her any sort of question. 'How many men have you slept with?'

'6.' Ruby instantly replied. Sherlock's eyes seemed to vibrate as they scanned her body before settling on an unusual conclusion.

'Telling the truth.' He declared. Ruby reached for her glass and took a generous sip.

'My turn. Are you a virgin?' She voiced the question the entire office was dying to know the answer to, though the response she received here would not go beyond the walls of 221b.

'No.' Sherlock said. For a man in his mid-thirties, this would be very obvious but this was Sherlock Holmes, a man who could not be judged from the statistics garnered from the mob. The name Irene Adler came to mind, but Ruby found herself believing that Sherlock Holmes would not break in front of a whip and tall stilettos, regardless of who might be wearing them.

'You're lying.' She eventually said; the word coming out more breathily than Ruby would have initially liked. A small smile twitched at Sherlock's lip for a moment as he examined the glass of red liquid balancing on his armrest. His gaze returned to hers and Ruby realised that she was wrong. He _wasn't_ a virgin. Slightly shocked that Sherlock would deviate from a case to indulge such primitive urges, she picked up her glass. She was always surprised when Sherlock demonstrated any of the weaknesses he was constantly complaining about with concerns to the human race.

'What are you doing?' Sherlock demanded.

'Stop being so blasted impatient! Look, I got it wrong, I'm drink –' Her voice caught in her throat when she realised Sherlock was taking a long draught from his glass of wine. 'Oh. I got it right then.' Ruby said in a little bit of shock.

'_Excellent_ deduction.' Sherlock said sarcastically as he balanced the glass on his armrest. Ruby was flummoxed by the strange sense of relief she felt upon discovering the detective was still "pure." This made no sense at all seeing as A) She wasn't pure herself, her tumultuous twenties had seen to that and B)… She didn't even have a second point to back up this bizarre reaction. She glanced up when she realised Sherlock had already asked his second question.

'What?' Ruby asked, trying to put to bed those ridiculous feelings.

'I _said_, who do you love more; your mother or your father?'

'Father.' Ruby instantly replied, doing nothing to conceal the bluntness to which this sentence was delivered.

'Easy. Lie.'

'Whoa. Drink up Sherly, cause you are w_rong_.'

'No I'm not. You love your mother more than your father. You may _like _your father more than your mother but that does not mean you _love _him more.'

'You're wrong. Stop being such a baby and drink up.'

'I'm. Not. Wrong.'

'Yes you are. It was my mother who wanted so badly to "fix" my sister.'

'So you place the majority of blame for Diane's death at your mother's doorstep. Interesting…' Sherlock mused, leaning forwards in his chair.

'You know what? This is taking too long. Sips are out of the window. If you get something wrong, you either down your glass of wine or take a shot of gin.' Ruby said briskly.

'You really want to mix gin with wine?'

'Yes I do. Now, next question!'

Things radically escalated over the next two hours, the questions becoming more and more ridiculous as the wine continued to disappear coupled with an alarming amount of gin. By now, Ruby knew some very peculiar facts about Sherlock, such as why he stayed away from relationships, how he hated dogs and how he was oddly familiar with all branches of porn.

'_You_ watch porn? Wow oh wow.' Ruby let out a very breathy, low whistle.

'It was for a pervy case with a lot of pervs. I had to learn to think like a perv.' He lazily argued.

'Pervy for sure.' Ruby said with a giggle. 'Which branch did you best prefer? Girls with girls, girls with boys, boys with –'

'Shut up your mouth!' Sherlock demanded, getting unsteadily to his feet for a moment to try and prove his point. 'The acting was so bad, _so_ bad. How could one ever an interest pursue in it?' He mused.

'You're drunk Yoda!' Ruby sang.

'_What_?'

'Drunk Yoda! Oh for aaaaaaaaaaall the marbles in England do you not know who Yoda is?'

'Sounds like an idiot.' Sherlock declared as he fell onto his chair.

'He speaketh in weird patterns. Your cognitive processes adopt Yoga tendencies with alcohol. WOW. That was really deep. I'm going to write that down so future Ruby will remember…' She hurriedly rummaged in her bag and in barely legible writing wrote down the gist of what she'd said. 'It's good you be no pervy porno addict.' She added as she tried to place the cap on her pen but somehow managed to flick it to the other end of the room.

'I'm glad you think so.'

'You see… here's what I believe. Porn… it makes sex _orange_ when it should be BLUE. Understand?'

'I don't think I want to understand.' Sherlock said with wide eyes. 'I think I'll have some kids.' He casually added.

'In what fuckedy fucked up wu-urld do we live in my darling, where I, a normal woman, does not want to bear children in her uterus but youuu, you do! Sherlock Holmes wants kids! Sherlock Holmes wants kids! Sherlock Holmes wants kids!'

'I don't want… irksome bundles of flesh.'

'But you just said you did! Are yooou lying ta me? If so, have a drinkie!' Ruby sloppily sloshed the last of the wine into Sherlock's glass.

'Why more wine?' He asked, staring at the glass in confusion.

'Isn't it obvious? The great Sherlock Holmes does not understand why I fillith his glass with the fruits of… of…' Ruby frowned as she lost her train of thought, the wine bottle clattering onto the floor but amazingly, remained intact. 'KIDS! SHERLOCK HOLMES WANTS KIDS!' She suddenly roared. 'Maybe Sally Donovan will be your pretty uterus.'

'If she ever offers me her uterus, she'll be trying to make it seem...' His hand swished lazily in the air. 'Rapey.'

'Ah! Good deduction. That's a funny word. Heh. But this. This is important.' She buffed her chest out in an absurd manner. 'You want to have offspring. Which means… haha watch me use logic! It means you want to have your cherry popped by a woman.'

'Stop romanticising… everything. You know I find that detestiabcle. Detestabricle. Delectable? Detestable! Uh. Words. So full of nonsensical… idiots.'

'No need to be ashamed of wanting sex Sherlock.' Ruby was having a rare bout of lucidity. 'S'only natural.'

'But I don't… my case. My work. I have marriage already.' He pouted.

'But Sherly. Your cases don't have vaginas. So you can't consumerate…? Consummate! You can't consummate that marriage! And your cases… they cannot give you children. So you see the problem? You need a woman. With big breasts and hips. Yes, they make for good child carriers… many children all in one go! Boom! Boom! Boom!' Ruby took another gulp of wine. 'But why the urge to become dad of the century? That's so very _dull_.'

'I don't want to be a fayther. Fatherer. Father. But my mind…' He tapped his temple profusely. 'My mind must carry on. After my body dies.'

'You want to create another consulting detective from your DNA?'

'Exactly. It would be much easier to manage if I had a proper lab… to clone my DNA. Just some hair. Or some skin.' He gazed at the skin coating his fingers for a moment. 'The skin is such a huge organ… my oh my. And I am so very intelligent.'

The doorbell rang and Ruby joyously leapt to her feet, a movement she soon lived to regret as an unpleasant rush of blood thundered to her head.

'Chinese!' She announced meekly, picking up the money on the table and unsteadily making her way downstairs, holding onto the banister for dear life. Eventually she managed to make it to the landing where she greeted the Chinese delivery guy with ridiculous enthusiasm; accidently gave him ten pounds in tip and a firm kiss on the cheek before heading upstairs. It was remarkably easier to ascend than descend; a thought which Ruby felt was of the utmost importance to share with her drinking companion.

'Chinese!' She announced with jazz hands, dropping the food onto their table.

'Forks.' Sherlock demanded.

'I has them!' Ruby declared, plunging a hand into her bra and retrieving two forks, the prongs of which had been peering out of her top.

'When did you…' Sherlock shook his head for a moment. 'Never mind. Give me one.'

'Say please.' Ruby pouted. He muttered some hogwash phrase. 'What _was_ that?'

'It's Latin.'

'Right. What did you say?'

'That I'm the most intelligent man on the planet and shouldn't have to say please for you or the Queen.'

'Yes you do.'

'Oh no I don't!' Sherlock roared, adopting a fantastic pantomime tone.

'Yes!'

'No, give the fork to me now!'

'No. Say please.'

'Fine… please?'

'Alright then!' Ruby sang as she thrust the fork into his hand and began digging into some chicken satay. The food had undoubtedly been a good call as they needed to sober up slightly. Also there was the fact that Ruby had never seen Sherlock eat a full meal in her life.

'What?' Sherlock asked, delicately wiping away some black bean sauce with a napkin. Even when he was drunk, he was so bloody _proper_.

'It's weird. Seeing you eat.'

'It'll make tomorrow easier.' He muttered before devouring a spring roll. The rest of the meal passed in silence, each individual intent on what alcohol was describing as the tastiest meal of their lives. Ruby's thoughts became less hazy as the alcohol began to soak into the plentiful fats re-introduced into her system.

After downing what felt like a gallon of water, Ruby rose and was very pleased to find her body responding much more cogently to her commands and deposited herself on Sherlock's armrest.

'What are you doing?' He snapped.

'Looks like you're returning to your lovely, rude self. How nice.' She said with a smile. 'Now that we've reverted back to the state of being "tipsy" thanks to Chinese food making our cholesterol soar through the roof, time to move on.'

'To what, exactly?'

'This.' Ruby reached out a hand and dragged her fingers through Sherlock's mop of black curls.

'A head massage?' He asked with a hint of his usual disparagement.

'No. Sorry, your hair is rather distracting.' Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he observed the merry red-haired detective.

'_Distracting_?'

'Aye.' Now both of Ruby's hands were lost in the tousled mop, slightly engrossed in the thickness and lovely colour of his hair.

'Would you stop that?'

'Alright Mr Grumpy.'

'I'm not _Mr_ –' Sherlock however, did not manage to finish his sentence. As can be imagined, it's pretty tricky to orate an argument when someone is kissing you.

'Now. That wasn't so bad, was it?' Ruby asked cheekily after pulling away, enjoying the look of complete astonishment painting Sherlock's face. Sherlock suddenly bolted to his feet, his eyes wide like an animal being hunted. 'Are you alright? You look kinda peaky.'

'Why did you do that?' Sherlock demanded.

'You asked me, your only friend of the fairer sex, to teach you how to kiss someone. So congratulations, you've just began step one to kissing like a pro.'

'There's… steps?' Sherlock asked, completely out of his comfort zone. His alcohol riddled mind sluggishly tried to think of a way out of this situation, though at the moment he couldn't stop thinking about the nice feeling tingling around his lips. He'd proven that in fact, Ruby's secret relationship wasn't serious, but it appeared that Ruby's firm grasp of his "kissing" request had not been loosened in the slightest by the alcohol pumping through her veins.

'Of course there're steps silly! And you've already failed the first one.'

'_What_?'

'The peck. You were awfully stiff and unreceptive.'

'You ambushed me, of course I was rigid!' Sherlock automatically argued.

'Fine. Prove that you can give a nice, supple, tender kiss.'

'And how am I supposed to do that?'

'_Kiss_ me you idiot. I thought that was obvious!' Ruby rolled her eyes, her hair swishing to compliment the dramatic movement.

'You… you want me to kiss you.' Sherlock muttered, scratching the back of his head nervously.

'It's not that big of a deal Sherly, skin against skin! Man up would ya?' Ruby ordered. 'Oh for God's sake.' She yelled at no-one in particular before crossing the room and standing before the detective. 'This is what you did.' She leant up and harshly planted a stiff kiss against Sherlock's now soft lips, her own remaining perfectly rigid. 'Not very pleasant is it?' Ruby asked as she withdrew, looking at Sherlock with a bizarre sort of pity. 'Now stop being so stiff! This is something to be… _enjoyed_.' She explained as her hands began loosening Sherlock's stiff joints, trying to make him relax.

'I don't see how this can be classified as "enjoyable."' He argued.

'If you need it for a case I suppose it doesn't have to be. But for someone you're interested in, you can't help but like what's going on.' Ruby giggled nervously, amazed that she'd taken such a nonchalant approach to this teaching business. Ah alcohol, the facilitator of so many bizarre events, sponsored by lowered inhibitions.

'I'll be the judge of that.'

'Shut up and listen .This is information you won't find in any of your books or in any room of that mind palace of yours. The main mistake made with kissing is that people purse their lips before the initial contact and allow the bottom lip to do the work. That. Is. Wrong.'

'Wrong?'

'_So_ wrong. You want to kiss someone properly; then you need to employ the unsung hero of the brilliant kisser. The wonderful upper lip! _Everyone_ forgets about the upper lip. But you judge for yourself which feeling you prefer.' Ruby stretched on tip toe once again and gave him a normal kiss using only her bottom lip. 'Alright, that was the normal, dull way.' She hadn't bothered to move away so her lips brushed his at irregular intervals as she spoke. 'Here's the interesting way.' Ruby's top lip gently encompassed Sherlock's while her bottom lip set to work, the pair working in harmony for a few moments.

'Better.' Sherlock said while clearing his throat nosily, suddenly finding the laces on his shoes very interesting.

'Course it was. You even responded.'

'No I didn't!' Sherlock said quickly.

'Alright maybe respond was exaggerated, but there was a breath of a response. Heh. I'm such a poet. Why the fuck am I police officer?' She asked no-one in particular.

'You're good at your job. That's why you made detective so young.'

'Is this one of your lopsided compliments which is secretly wrapped in an insult and you're extra stung as you initially think your ego is being boosted when in fact it's being mocked?'

'No.'

'Oh, it definitely is then.'

'Ruby –'

'Look, Sherly, this is tricky enough without you mocking me on the side lines too alright?' Sherlock opened his mouth to argue, but quickly swallowed his retort.

'So have I passed step one then?' He eventually asked.

'Pffft, you haven't even taken the challenging practical!'

'The challenging prac– oh.' He rolled his eyes as he understood the full meaning of her words. 'Right then.'

'Show me what you've learned!' Ruby said cheerfully.

'You're enjoying this far too much; it's obvious you have a devastating crush on me.'

'Nah you're alright. It's just nice to have the unquestionable authority on this subject matter, leaving you the novice.'

'That leaves you in a highly unusual position. Enjoy it while you can.' He murmured before leaning down and pressing his lips against hers, incorporating the upper lip technique with annoying ease. He pulled away after a few seconds, leaving Ruby firmly trying to hold all of her thought strands together. She was a teacher damn it, she needed to keep her shit together. Sherlock could not get the better of her in something she had genuine talent and experience with.

'Don't keep your eyes open.' She blustered.

'Why? I like to see what I'm doing.'

'Usually that would be fine, but then it's you we're talking about here.'

'What's _that_ supposed to mean?'

'Your eyes… have you seen them?' Sherlock glanced at the mirror and frowned.

'They're both the same colour, aren't colour-blind, possess correctly functioning pupils–'

'Sherly, no! That's not what I mean!'

'Then be less vague!'

'Fine! They're too intense. Every time you look at someone it's like: OH MY GOD HIS EYES WHAT IS GOING ON THERE HE CAN SEE MY SKELETON I'M TERRIFIED AND INTRIGUED SIMULTANEOUSLY. Not what we want your lady friend to be thinking. You're always being super-duper observant and your eyes express this when they vibrate over anything which piques your interest.'

'My eyes don't _vibrate_ –'

'Hell yes they do! So in an "intimate setting" that would seriously disturb the smooth vibes you're supposed to be sending out!' She ran a hand through her hair while avoiding the gaze of said x-ray vision. 'Try again.'

'Fine.'

'And don't be tense'

'I know.'

'And the upper lip thing…yeah that was good the previous time. Do it like that again.'

'Ruby. Shut up.' Sherlock snarled before leaning down and kissing her once again, eyes firmly closed. Sherlock was surprised that the elimination of his primary sense heightened instead of diminished the exhilarating knot twisting his stomach, the existence of which he would rather endure Anderson's pointless natterings over his next ten cases than admit to the woman he was kissing.

'Alright, good! Now just a heads up, I'm going to respond next time, so don't pull any lines that I'm "ambushing you" alright?' Ruby said with an eye-closing smile which made Sherlock suspect that she was not feeling any sort of knot in her own gut.

'I'll try not to faint.' Sherlock said drily though he wondered what the sensation would feel like. Was he looking forward to it? He didn't manage to form a coherent answer as he leant down and once again placed a kiss on lips which were becoming quickly familiar. A strong tingling in his own lips persisted for the next ten seconds as he felt Ruby's move against them. He felt his heart beat quicken _ever _so slightly at their exchange, which was, he privately admitted, rather enjoyable.

'You passed step one with flying colours.' Ruby said after pulling away, trying to ignore the fact that she'd kissed him for double the amount of time than previously intended. She hadn't expected Sherlock to understand never mind _present_ tenderness. The thought made her already addled brain even more dysfunctional.

'So… step two?' Sherlock prompted as Ruby sifted through her muggy thoughts.

'Tongue!' She said with a disturbingly bright smile. 'Tricky, and the part which arguably is abused the most. Just remember one simple rule with tongue: less is more.' At least she hadn't lost her flair for reeling of facts about kissing, meaning she was still pretty tipsy. This sort of confidence didn't exist during sober hours. Honestly, before tonight, she'd not really given much thought to her knowledge regarding a kiss. It just happened with someone she liked, or with someone she was protecting as had been the case with John.

'At all costs, avoid the washing machine.' She added.

'The washing machine…?'

'I won't demonstrate as it's _that_ unpleasant. In a nutshell, it's where one or both members of the embrace, decide to shove their tongue into the others mouth and proceed to violently swirl it around in circles.' Ruby visibly shuddered. 'I nearly became a lesbian after my first kiss with a washing machine.' She shook her head to rid herself of the memory. 'But _you_, you're in good hands. So you won't be plagued with this affliction.'

'Good to know.' Sherlock murmured.

'And also, none of this bullshit about licking the lower lip asking for "entrance" into the other's mouth. That doesn't happen in real life. If you're enjoying what's going on, your mouth will open slightly out of instinct as it did earlier.'

'But I didn't open my –'

'Yes you did. You didn't acknowledge it but I did.' It was so strange being so certain where Sherlock was so uncertain. Is this what he felt like all the time? It must be so nice…

And tedious.

_Very_ tedious.

'I'm going to kiss you now and don't be surprised by how weird it feels.' Ruby announced abruptly before reaching up onto her toes and pressing her lips against Sherlock's once again. Sherlock's response was more automatic this time; he didn't need to think too much about what his lips were doing. That was until his parted slightly and something _long_ and _wet_ gently entered his mouth. It was very distracting and Sherlock instantly lost any enjoyment he'd extracted from the kiss. This was odd. Not good odd either. 'Don't freeze. Keep moving.' Ruby whispered encouragingly, kissing him once again. The initial distrust of Ruby's tongue gradually waned as he became used to the slippery sensation. The two parted slightly with Sherlock looking slightly bewildered.

'Good. I know it's weird –'

'I think you need to employ a stronger adjective.' He muttered.

'Uncomfortably weird –'

'Not strong enough.'

'Well you think of one then!' Ruby said while shaking her head. She was trying to find an adjective to describe Sherlock's distaste for having her tongue in his mouth… what was her life coming to?

'Icky?' She tried again.

'Yes, that was the initial sensation.'

'Initial?'

'It became more… bearable.'

'Even enjoyable?' Ruby teased while placing her hands on her hips. There was less chance of her fingers "accidently" ending up in Sherlock's hair and tugging him down for an embarrassingly passionate kiss if she kept her hands _right_ there.

'Let's not push it.' Sherlock said knowingly.

'Fine. Onto more practise then?'

'I'm not the type which gives up halfway.'

'No, the obsessive ones never abort a mission.' Ruby said with a small chuckle. 'When you use tongue, like I said –'

'Less is more.' Sherlock's eyes were blazing with impatience.

'Eh. Yeah.' Ruby was finding his gaze quite… unnerving.

They started kissing once again and Sherlock's tongue slowly slunk into Ruby's mouth, though it was a tense and awkward entrance, causing Ruby to quickly pull away. 'Supple. Tender.' She reminded 'Not stiff.' She saw Sherlock's fists clench at his sides, fists which loosened as she burst out laughing. 'You're so Goddamn serious Sherlock! If I could teach the male population to learn what you've learnt in triple the amount of time, I'd have opened up kissing clinics years ago. Even in _this_ you pick things up abnormally quickly.'

'I was of the opinion that this for most men was a quick process.'

'True. And look at the population of terrible kissers in England! Disgraceful.' She had another little chuckle at the doubt clouding Sherlock's features. It was an expression she was unused to seeing and made his ethereal features appear humbler. 'Stop doubting yourself.' Ruby murmured.

'I don't feel doubt.'

'Course you do. You're a man Sherlock, a brilliant one sure, but a man nonetheless.'

'You really love calling me brilliant; that has to be the fourth time this week alone that you've employed that adjective.'

'Shut up you show off.' Ruby demanded as her hands reached up, pulled on the collar of Sherlock's shirt and roughly drew him closer. Her lips were on his before he could bring up another point of protest, moving with a ferocity which up to this point, she'd kept veiled from the consulting-detective. Her hands slid into his gorgeous locks as she felt Sherlock rise to the challenge, his hands which had been beside his side this entire time, suddenly became animated and wasted no time pulling her closer. One clenched around her back while the other was busy tracing delicate patterns against her stomach. Lips locked and tongues boldly exchanged greetings as their embrace continued beyond the border of mere friendship. Heart rates elevated, allowing the blood to thunder around their excited bodies which were crushed against one another. Sherlock was for the first time in living memory, oblivious to his surroundings. All he currently cared about was the information his sense of touch was providing him. He could feel Ruby's ribs gently pressing against her skin as his hand wandered up and down her side, his other grasping the smooth texture of her neck, goosebumps chasing the touch of his cool fingers. His hands wandered north, lost in the fiery strands of her hair as he tried to imprint to memory the soft texture of the crimson locks. Ruby's fingers continued to clench and unfurl in Sherlock's mop of midnight curls as a violent blush painted her cheeks scarlet from the surprisingly ferocious embrace. Soon her hands were wandering south, cupping Sherlock's impossibly high cheekbones for a moment before moving further down, curious fingers tracing his jawline, his neck, his Adam's apple… She gently ran her fingernails along the exposed flesh at the nape of his neck, eliciting a minor – but nonetheless existent – groan from the dark-haired detective. She felt a wall meet her back, a quiet surprise for her as she didn't remember walking backwards. She welcomed the improvisation from Sherlock who she now deemed a model pupil quickly graduating from Ruby's college of expert kissers with first honours. Her hands travelled further south, running along the lean frame of the detective, over his expensive shirt, the purple one which now she thought about it, obviously suited him best.

Suddenly oxygen wasn't reaching her lungs and, gasping for breath, the two finally emerged from the embrace. Ruby's hands slowly fell from Sherlock's shirt and she stared unflinchingly into his now very focused gaze. He wasn't analysing her, he was just seeing her, the soft dimension was one which before tonight she'd have sworn Sherlock didn't possess. His nose was pressed gently against her own, his head still bent from leaning down to capture her lips. Nothing was said as their chests gradually stopped heaving; a silent staring contest took place as each pondered how this would change their futures.

The front door opening and closing shattered their private atmosphere.

'That'll be John.' Sherlock's voice was peculiarly husky as he phrased this sentence. 'It's late, _very _late. It would be… unwise for you to go home.'

'Thanks Sherlock… I'll just crash on the –'

'Take my bed.'

'–couch, wait _what_?'

'Go. Now. Before John comes in from checking in with Mrs Hudson. Look, I'll explain…' He glanced round the messy room 'I'll explain this.'

'Alright, thanks. Good night Sherlock.'

'Good night Ruby.' He didn't move to liberate her from her imprisoned position on the wall, indeed he seemed to be on the verge of asking something when footsteps where discerned mounting the stairs.

'_Go_.' Sherlock ordered, stepping aside to allow Ruby to scuttle from the room, quietly closing the bedroom door just as John entered the living room.

'Evening – bloody hell Sherlock, what happened here?' John's eyes roved around the messy living room, his eyes settling on the empty bottles of wine, two orders of Chinese and two glasses.

'Had to entertain a guest for a case. Tedious work indeed, I don't know how you do it for fun!' Sherlock mused as he ran a hand through his mop of curls.

'Alright, sorry about humanity being a big fat lot of stupid idiots. And what happened to your hair?'

'My hair? Why? What's wrong with it?'

'Sherlock, there's no need to get so defensive, it just looks as if you were dragged through a bush backwards.'

'Oh.' He looked at himself in the mirror to find that John's description was quite accurate. 'You know; humidity. Curls have a life of their own!'

'Right. Listen, unless you need anything else, I'm off to bed. Try not to leave this living room in this state, poor Mrs Hudson will have a heart attack if she sees the mess you've made.'

'Night John!' Sherlock said bracingly.

'You're in an awfully good mood.' John said suspiciously. 'Were you drinking _gin_?' He asked incredulously as his eyes fell on the small blue bottle peering out from beneath the table.

'Yes, hence the good mood. Plus a break in the case which I'll tell you all about in the morning!' Sherlock leapt joyously onto the couch where he steepled his hands beneath his chin and pretended to dive into the depths of his mind palace. But his thoughts were steaming out of control, impossible to manipulate at this point.

'Night Sherlock, I'll leave you to… whatever it is you're doing.' John muttered before climbing the stairs to his own room. After what seemed like an eternity, his door slammed shut and Sherlock leapt from his chair and bolted through the kitchen, pausing outside of his own room. His hand hovered uncertainly over the door knob but found his fingers unable to twist the handle. Sherlock then found himself sitting on the floor beside his own room, his legs crossed and his elbows resting on his thighs.

Sometime later, he jumped to his feet and finally managed to overcome the bizarre barrier which had stopped him from entering his own room. His eyes fell on the curled form highlighted by the silver of the waning moon peering through the unveiled window. Ruby slept soundly, the alcohol providing an irresistible drag into the land of dreams, one which Sherlock found himself reluctant to wake her from. After some more thinking, he stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. He entered the living room where he slumped onto his armchair, eyes glued to the clock on his mantelpiece, counting down the minutes to when the sleeping Ruby would stir.

* * *

**This. Was. HARD. Not to mention ridiculously exhilarating. But very challenging, mostly because it took so long for Sherlock to get properly intimate thanks to his maddeningly complex character and also the small reason that I wrote all six and a half thousand words of this chapter today. And edited it. My brain is officially mush! I do hope you liked it, you the reader have been waiting SO patiently for some Sherlock/OC action and I've finally delivered. With concerns to where the story goes from here, I have big, BIG plans. Lets just say, I'm glad you're invested in my OC because this story is going in for the long haul. Thank you so much to those of you who reviewed, I will now make it my business after grabbing some sleep to reply before work tomorrow. Your dedication goes so far as to leave reviews the length of essays for me to read after tough days which allow me to have the strength to type out another chapter. It means so much, you have no idea. **

**Alright, enough with the mush which my brain is oozing out, I am funkyrandomer and I hope you enjoyed this latest instalment. I've been dying to write it since I first started this story some eighty thousand words ago. **


	26. Chapter 26

**Waking Up**

For a blissful thirty seconds, Ruby awoke and remembered nothing of last night. This was largely due to the roaring headache smashing against the inside of her skull, a distraction which did not last thanks to the circumstances surrounding its inception. Ruby bolted upright, a movement which did nothing but aggravate her outrageous hangover.

Sherlock Holmes.

She'd _kissed_ Sherlock Holmes.

Not once.

Not twice.

Not even _thrice_.

Perhaps seven to eight times?

'Oh _God_.' She murmured, hands shielding her eyes from the harsh sun barging through the unveiled window. 'Oh God, oh God, oh God –' Her hands slid from her face and she sat straighter, remembering in full the pristine memory of what could only be described as _the _kiss. One which didn't belong in the drunken mistakes category as a) neither of them were drunk, by that stage it would be a push to call their condition tipsy and b) the embrace had lasted _far_ too long to be blamed on lowered inhibitions.

Plus there was also the screaming fact that it was **SHERLOCK FUCKING HOLMES** and when **SHERLOK FUCKING HOLMES** didn't want to do something **HE DIDN'T FUCKING DO IT**.

Knees were pinned against her chest as her speeding thoughts seemed to increase the tempo of a certain pounding headache. This was not helped by the room not to mention the _bed_ she found herself waking up in.

_His_ room.  
_His_ bed.  
_His_ scent.

Some bare facts could not be ignored here. That last kiss, the one which she remembered was her fault for initiating, had surprised her on many fronts. Ruby's initial _desire _had been curbed to teaching Sherlock. That was fine, until that blasted final embrace where her body had informed her of something her mind had been firmly ignoring for the past… what. Weeks? _Months_ even? Her feelings for Sherlock had always been those of wary admiration but it appeared her caution had been eroded by each encounter with the detective whose tongue was as sharp as his cheekbones.

So what, her feelings had escalated without her knowledge into territory beyond reluctant admiration? No. Don't be stupid, of course they hadn't. Sherlock was the one who was emotionally-stunted, she'd have realised before now if she in any way fancied the detective. No. She did not. Last night was helping out a friend who had asked a very challenging favour. She'd cooperated fully.

That was it.

Sighing as she finally worked up the courage to get out of bed, Ruby was suddenly struck with a whole new dilemma. What was _he_ thinking about last night? Could he harbour feelings for her? Sherlock had kissed her back with something she hadn't suspected the detective to possess; something which if Sally Donovan heard tell of would disqualify her from calling Sherlock Holmes a freak.

Ruby stayed in the green papered room for a further minute, taking her time to pull on her shoes before pressing her ear against the door and listening intently for the other members of 221b. After hearing nothing, she gently opened the door and slipped into the kitchen.

'Morning.' Called a voice from the living room. Not Sherlock's baritone, but that of his roommate; John.

_Shit!_

She'd been foolishly counting on John's commitment to the clinic to provide an opportunity to sneak out of 221b. The last thing she needed was an interrogation about last night's events from Sherlock's only friend. Well, only _male _friend if she included herself in that count.

'Morning. Eh, want some tea?' Ruby asked; cursing herself for asking John if he wanted to extend what was to be an awkward morning chat. What about: "Sorry John, important case, need to go to the office immediately" or something of that ilk. Why did she have to ask if he wanted some bloody tea?!

'Um, yes. Tea would be lovely.' John called, seated in his favourite armchair, a newspaper holding his attention. Ruby's thoughts began whizzing again as the blue light of the kettle reflected against her restless hands. What if Sherlock had told John what happened? Would John want to know every single detail of last night? Was she in for a telling off? Oh God, John was going to think she was messing with Sherlock's heartstrings just for the fun of it and hang her out to dry.

She delicately poured the boiled water into a fine china tea pot, placed two cups on saucers, grabbed a packet of biscuits and walked with an air so solemn one might describe it as a funeral march. 'Here you go John.' Ruby said; handing him a china cup filled with a generous portion of tea.

'Ta – oh, you used the good china.'

'Sorry –'

'No, it's fine. Nice, actually. It barely gets used.' He said with a reassuring smile, his hair ruffled from an earlier shower, a towel casually slung over his shoulder. Ruby poured herself a cup of tea before casting around for some place to sit. John suppressed a chuckle and indicated she sit in the opposing armchair, one which Ruby found herself rather reluctant to take. It was _his _chair and if he found her lounging in his chair… but then again she'd slept in his bed. Twice now. The armchair shouldn't be such an alarming leap. Yet in some strange way, it _was_. If Sherlock's memories were stored in what he called his "mind palace" then he most definitely would think of his armchair where he conducted the majority of his thinking as his throne.

Sitting there would be almost treasonous.

'I'd have thought you wouldn't be so awkward in the mornings, it's not exactly the first time you've kipped here.' John remarked as Ruby sank into Sherlock's armchair, feeling wholly uncomfortable despite the plush leather. Either it was a trick of the light or there was a slight gleam of smugness framing John's eyes.

'True.' Ruby said while quashing a desperate urge to chew her lower lip. 'Where is your annoying flat mate anyway? I'd have thought he'd be flapping around, telling me off for daring to take his armchair and cursing our idiocy for failing to see the latest break he'd made in the case.'

'Don't think you've gotten away with it, he'll probably be able to see from the depression in the leather that someone who isn't a complete dick was sitting there.' Ruby managed to stifle a chuckle but didn't quite stop a dribble of tea escaping down her chin. John snorted into his china cup, doing his best to shield his amusement.

'It was damn impolite for you to be so funny when I had a mouth full of tea!' Ruby protested as she unceremoniously wiped away the tea with the back of her hand, an action which if her mother had seen would cause her to faint from this display of gross indecency.

'Mm yes, incredibly insensitive of me. I do apologise. Also you've got a little, eh, tea still –' He stroked the left side of his own chin. '_Just_ there. Wouldn't want you leaving the flat with your face… streaked with tea.' Ruby shook her head in John's direction while wiping away the final dribble of tea. 'Oh, I almost forgot. Sherlock –'

'What about him?' Ruby asked a little too quickly.

'Well, um. He's… gone.'

'_Gone_? Gone where?'

'No idea. Sent me a text this morning – hang on. I'll read it for you.' He fished in the pocket of his dressing gown and withdrew his phone. 'It says: _John, gone away for a few days for the case. Don't call. Don't text. Especially if it's a case of national security. SH_'

'National security…?' Ruby wondered aloud.

'Mycroft Holmes, his brother. He often calls on Sherlock for favours to do with the British government. I think the two of you have met.'

'Oh, I remember Sherlock's bombastic big brother alright.'

'Such dramatic idiots, the pair of them. You met Mycroft here didn't you? Well, that was a bit more pleasant, a nice warm room, meeting you with someone you already knew…'

'Why, how did you meet him?'

'Oh you know. Unmarked car. Driven to a deserted warehouse. Only lights were those coming from said car…'

'Jesus. Bit dramatic wouldn't you think?'

'Well I suppose he's allowed to be, seeing as he came from the same gene pool as a man who dubs his older brother as his "arch enemy" and finds no problem with taking a skull to a restaurant and conducting a conversation with it.' He sighed while folding his paper and placing it on the side of his armchair. 'Those two being brothers though… I honestly don't know how they grew up in the same house without killing one another then proving to the police that it was suicide and having forensics back up their opinion.'

'Throughout their entire conversation I wasn't quite convinced I was in reality. They're just so…'

'Pompously intelligent? Possess egos the size of the Grand Canyon? Stupendously dramatic? Childishly bitter?'

'Machine-like.'

'Hmm, that too. Though I like to think that Sherlock has a bit more heart. Such lying thoughts make it a bit easier to live with him.'

'Is he really that bad?'

'Yes. Though I wouldn't live anywhere else.'

'Not even if this place had a hot wife who cooked excellently?'

'Well… I can always make exceptions with concerns to my future hot wife who just so happens to be an excellent cook.' It was Ruby's turn to snort as John took a deep gulp of tea. 'And eh, on more awkward matters…' He began, hurriedly placing his tea cup on a table. 'Do you, um, want to tell me what's going on?'

'What do you mean?' Ruby replied quickly, her thoughts threatening to explode out of her head at this question.

'Between you and Sherlock. What's going on?'

'Well…eh apparently, as of last night, we are officially friends.' Ruby said while scratching the back of her head, trying to ignore how the wall she'd been so eagerly pressed up against last night was mere feet to her left.

'Wow. I didn't think Sherlock had it in him.' John murmured.

'To do what?' Ruby asked.

'Make another friend. That's two for him now.'

'Isn't Lestrade a friend–'

'Sherlock didn't know Lestrade's first name was Greg for the first six years he worked with him. He found out by accident when we were working a case in Dartmoor and Lestrade came to keep an eye on us and Sherlock thought he was using Greg as an alias.'

'Oh my…'

'The man sees through people in seconds, yet remains spectacularly ignorant on some matters.'

'That's almost a direct quote from "A Study In Pink" isn't it?'

'Ah. So you do read my blog.'

'Refresh it every night.' Ruby admitted with a small grin. 'So if Sherlock didn't know what Lestrade's first name was… do you perhaps think he believes Mrs Hudson's first name to be… Mrs?'

'That; is a very good question. One which we'll have to ask him on his return. Now, I know this might seem stupid, but he's my best friend and I have to keep an eye out both for his sake and for the country he inhabits.' John heaved a particularly heavy sigh. 'Don't pull a Molly.'

'Sorry?'

'I think it's fantastic that he has a friend of the fairer sex in his life, really I do, but I'm aware that he has his high cheekbones, his stupid coat and a select few are able to look past his abrasive personality and appreciate his spectacular intelligence not to mention his sharp tongue. Look… I'm just saying keep an eye out for yourself. If you emotionally invest in him by seeking more than what friendship he can offer, you will receive nothing but disappointment and it will end badly. For both of you.'

'So avoid teaching him how to kiss someone if he asks me?' Ruby asked sarcastically.

'He asked you to teach him how to kiss?' For a moment, Ruby was tempted to tell John the truth, to share the bizarre concoction of feelings eddying in the pit of her stomach created from last night.

'John, don't be absurd. Sherlock Holmes, take time out of a case to learn how to kiss someone?' The incredulous tone was slightly hysterical but John didn't seem to notice.

'Heh. Yeah, when you put it like that. It does seem wildly out of character for him.' He chuckled before draining the rest of his tea. 'Shouldn't you be at work? It is Monday after all.' Ruby glanced at her watch which confirmed she was indeed two hours late. Her phone was dead so no calls from the station to yell at her for her incompetence. Yet.

'Oh crap! I need to go, Lestrade'll kill me! Thanks for the tea. And the um, advice. But I'll just say one thing before I leg it.' She straightened her coat. 'I'm no Molly Hooper, John. You won't find Sherlock manipulating me the way he does her.'

'Glad to hear it.' He said with a firm nod. As Ruby flew down the stairs, an odd thought struck her. Had John always been this protective of her? She didn't remember him being so loyal… then again she had helped get rid of his psycho-ex a few weeks back, maybe these things helped people to bond…?

She hailed a cab some two minutes later and after closing the door and zooming away from 221b, she was able to analyse her feelings about Sherlock conveniently having to travel for a few days after their "lesson". She felt a little saddened by his quick departure and a slight fear of their next meeting which would only serve to be more awkward due to the time lapse. In the cold light of day, Ruby knew Sherlock would never, unless she somehow got him drunk again, admit to anything of a particularly sensational matter taking place in his living room last night. Upon waking, she had quickly convinced herself –and John Watson for that matter– that she harboured no feelings beyond friendship for the dark haired detective.

Apparently, this was not the case.

* * *

**Ah I cannot wait to share Ruby and Sherlock's reunion, you guys are going to LOL, or at least I hope so. :/ I felt it was important for John and Ruby to have this time together to improve their own relationship. Also John might just be the greatest friend. Ever. Reviews make me spontaneously combust. But in a good way. So thank you so much for the ridiculous support, feel free to pm me with any queries concerning the direction this story is headed, I'm not promising information but I don't bite! **


	27. Chapter 27

**An Awkward Reunion**

Five days later, Ruby stood gazing at the mansion she grew up in, the taxi from the train station leaving a trail of dust in its wake as it abandoned her. Two suitcases stood to attention, one on either side as her eyes focused on the ten foot high door, waiting for her parents to come out and frostily greet her. After standing there for a solid minute, she realised no such reunion would take place, something which annoyed the hell out of Ruby. It was _their_ bloody anniversary which had dragged her from her perfectly happy life being a scruffy detective living in a plush hotel suite in London. And to where? A mansion filled with more things than you could shake a stick at but lacked the key thing which held any home together: a proper family.

Now, it would be a lie to say Ruby's parents did not love her. They had been greatly saddened when after her sister's death, she'd deserted the family. As far as Ruby was concerned, a set of parents who could only love one of their daughters was not a set at all. Diane had been difficult, there was no sugar-coating that, but those difficulties could have been managed better if they'd been given the right attention, the right understanding.

As it stood, Ruby hadn't returned to the family mansion for three whole years. Indeed, her family had not been in contact since her mother's snooty video a few weeks ago, demanding she attend this particular "celebration." Ruby had told no-one down at the station of her plans as it would mean unveiling her wealthy background. However, she also hadn't informed John or Jahmene. It would've been nice to bring one of them as a "date" to help her through this ordeal but she didn't want to subject them to her parents' absurdly snobbish nature. Once learning they were not "of money" as her parents so lovingly phrased it, they would politely excuse themselves from their company and never acknowledge them again. You see, to impress Ruby's family, one had to be of money, possess a certain degree of education, hold a respectable job and the most shallow of all: command a high level of good looks. All of this had been revealed to Ruby when she'd brought home her first boyfriend, aged eighteen, to introduce him to her parents.

Ruby's parents had shortly banned him from the house.

She snorted when thinking of what would've happened if she'd asked Sherlock to come with her. This type of soiree would make his nostrils flare in an alarming manner and sharpen his already insult-ready tongue. Oh, for him to employ his wit against those whose company she could not stand… the thought was too delicious to completely let go of. Besides, even if he'd been around before departing on some wild goose chase for his case (she still hadn't seen him since the tutorial in his living room) she'd have needed to _desire_ his company to ask him to something like this. And she didn't desire Sherlock's company. She didn't want anything from him. _Especially_ not a "date." That had already been decided! God, she could do with a stiff drink, these proceedings hadn't even been kicked into gear and she was already flustered and annoyed. Where the hell was her blasted family so she could begin this ordeal and get it over with?

She dragged her bags up the excellently hewn stairs and raised her hand and pulled the elegant knocker carved in the shape of a woodpecker. A set of purposeful footsteps were heard approaching the door and as it was pulled open, an unexpected surprise awaited her.

'C-Carson?' Ruby spluttered.

'The one and only, Lady Smith. And if I may be so bold, I might say that after a lengthy absence, it is a genuine pleasure to welcome you home.' Replied Carson who had been a part of this house before Ruby was born. He was the butler of the Smith residence and even in what must now be his seventieth year, he held himself with a dignified grace most gentlemen of the 21st century significantly lacked. Ruby had never agreed with the indifferent manner her parents treated Carson, so it was without thinking that she dropped her bags and threw her arms around the old butler. He chuckled for a moment before gently patting her on the back, not quite sure how to respond to the vibrant display of affection.

'I thought you'd moved to another residence.' Ruby said as she disentangled herself from the butler.

'Indeed, I had been placed at an honourable family's house but alas, the staff there were not up to the standard I was used to working with. And it did not do my heart any good to be parted from the Smith's residence, a place which I have inhabited and cared for many a year.'

'I'm so glad you're still here Carson. I thought… I thought I was going to have to endure these proceedings alone.'

'Nonsense Lady Smith. I will be overseeing the entire event and have made it my mission to make it as enjoyable as possible. Who knows Ms Smith, if you allow yourself, you may just have some fun!' He smiled broadly at her. 'Now, let me show you to your quarters.' He leant down and with a surprising strength, picked up her cases and motioned for her to enter the grand house. 'Your parents are in the gardens observing the construction.' He said in answer to her unvoiced question.

'Construction?' Ruby wondered aloud as she walked into the entrance hall, a splendid marble staircase sweeping away to the upper floors dominating the spacious chamber.

'Of the marquees.' Carson quickly corrected as he led her towards the staircase, taking the steps with a spritely gait. 'There are seven in total, one for food, one for drink, one for amusements, another for dancing, another for music… it is a most lovely set up if I say so myself.'

'I'm sure no expense was spared.' Ruby commented as she hurried after the butler.

'Still feeling guilt regarding your inheritance, Lady Smith?' Carson chuckled as he walked purposefully along the lusciously decorated first floor corridor, passing off beautifully polished doors leading off to tastefully furnished bedrooms. All of these were ignored and a spiral staircase at the end of the passage was soon ascended and Ruby smirked when she realised where they were headed.

'How many guests have arrived Carson?'

'Most are expected tomorrow afternoon where they will have their belongings deposited in their chambers before getting ready for the evening's entertainment.' They stopped in front of Ruby's old room which so happened to be opposite the library, a place she was indeed fond of. Carson stepped forward and opened the door, revealing a room filled with familiar objects and posters. Ruby couldn't contain a smile as her eyes roved around the chamber, taking in posters of particularly controversial movies of her teenage years, partially out of her enjoyment of them, partially out of knowing her parents would disapprove. 'I hope everything is to your satisfaction. Lord and Lady Smith expect you to join them for dinner in the main dining hall in exactly an hour and three quarters.'

'Thank you Carson. I know you arranged this.' Ruby said while beaming around at her old room. She wasn't placed in some fancy hogwash guest room, but one with a little bit more character.

'Lady Smith, you are more than welcome. Now, with your permission, I will take my leave.' Carson said with a slight bow before swiftly exiting the chamber. Ruby sighed before flumping down onto her bed, giggling when she saw the pulp fiction poster pinned onto the ceiling of her four-poster. A black and white print of Sam L. Jackson pointing a gun, complimented by the words "English motherfucker. Do you speak it?" She felt her hair shift ominously from her rough landing and hurried over to her vanity mirror where she quickly set the blonde wig in place, hiding the long crimson locks from her parents' judgmental gaze. Just one of the many small changes she'd made to make herself presentable to her parents, others included going shopping for "designer outfits" which felt like they were made of cardboard rather than the fine materials the store attendants boasted of. She glared at her suitcases with unconcealed loathing before dragging them onto the bed, opening them and selecting an item which would be deemed acceptable for dinner. After examining the dress with the critical eye her mother would use, she took off her wig and hopped into the shower, grinning at her recently dyed red hair which would drive her parents insane if they ever learned of its existence.

Before Ruby knew what was going on, it was the following day and she was descending the staircase of the entrance hall which was bustling with finely dressed ladies and gentlemen of the surrounding country. Her dinner the previous night with her parents went… well it _went_. She had managed to steer most of the conversation away from her private life which consisted of catching cold-blooded serial killers, dating meth-kings and teaching high-functioning sociopaths how to kiss. Questions had been fired from her mouth concerning the boring on-goings of her father's estate and her mother's social group. How she hadn't fainted from boredom was quite frankly; beyond her.

She made it to the bottom step without falling and breaking her own neck, a personal victory considering the treacherous high heels she was wearing. Her blonde wig was half pinned up, the rest elaborately curling down her back, the hair swaying gently as she approached the registry table, invitation card clasped in hand. She took deep breaths as she moved through the crowd, trying to forget how she'd had a full on panic attack this morning considering getting ready for her parents' celebration. She hated dressing up like this; putting on expensive jewellery, all of the false smiles, the over the top make-up, the sexy dress. She loathed it. _Detested_ it. Her hatred for the incoming evening had earlier on, caused this overwhelming sense of suffocation, resulting in Carson running for a brown paper bag and delaying her stylist by fifteen minutes as he patiently calmed her down.

With her head held high, she edged closer to the edge of the hall. Her backless, floor-length red number caught the attention of a few passing men, their gazes lingering for a period longer than was suitable for a gentlemen of their supposed stature. The chiffron material seemed to float around her black high heels, her smoky eye-shadow matching the earrings, bracelet and ring decorating her exposed skin. Her lips matched the scarlet dress, a move which she privately enjoyed as it reminded her of the stripper stint as Jasmine she'd pulled some months ago. This was something she had not shared with her parents or their judgmental group of friends, information which if revealed would trigger shock waves throughout this snobby posh lot.

Finally, she arrived at the elaborate booth where invitations were being checked, and it was there she finally stumbled upon a familiar face, bringing her first true smile of the evening. Carson looked composed and in control as he checked a long sheet of parchment, ticking off each name with a quill dipped in ink. She found the ink and parchment a tasteful addition compared with the over-the-top dress code of the party. After another thirty seconds, she approached her favourite butler and handed over her invitation, enjoying the special smile he sent her way, his eyes glancing over her outfit and nodding with a sort of fatherly approval. It pleased him to see her dressed up in all her finery, even if she felt uncomfortable with it.

'Now Lady Smith, I would be exceptionally surprised not to find your name on this list.' Carson said with a smile as his eyes scanned over the length of parchment. Upon reaching the bottom of the page however, his brows furrowed suspiciously.

'Is something wrong, Carson?' Ruby asked.

'Indeed, I find myself quite perplexed, my lady.'

'And what is the source of your bewilderment?'

'That you never deemed it proper to tell me.'

'Tell you what?' Ruby asked, her nerves being replaced with impatience.

'Oh, I'm sure it escaped your mind that you brought a date.' The voice did not belong to Carson, but originated from someone on her right. Ruby turned and started, her mouth falling open in a comic "O" as she gazed at the haughty man dressed in a fine black suit with a crisp white shirt, a freshly picked violet nestled in his breast pocket. What was probably more surprising was the presence of a sleek black tie nestled against the throat of said shirt. 'Sherlock Holmes. Pleasure to meet you at last, Ms Smith has only been able to boast good things of you.' Sherlock said with a deceivingly pleasant smile as Ruby mentally shook herself and managed to press her lips firmly together. Carson was looking dubiously at the pair, his questioning gaze lingering on Ruby, raising his eyebrow in an unasked question.

'Yes, um Sherlock Holmes. My date…?' She asked while glancing at him. 'Yes. Did, I eh – not tell you?' She asked Carson as innocently as she could currently manage. Her heart was threatening to burst out of her chest as Carson's eyes lowered to his list.

'Well, Mr Holmes, your name is present beside Lady Smith's. Consider yourself a lucky man, not many enjoy such an honour.' He said with raised brows. 'Shall I inform your brother of your presence when he arrives?'

'Wait, Mycroft's coming?' Ruby asked, momentarily forgetting about the absurdity of this situation.

'Oh yes, he's grown quite close to your father.' Sherlock said aloofly, his gaze settling onto Carson once again. 'Does everything satisfy your requirements to enter?' He asked.

'Why yes. Enjoy the fine distractions and Lady Smith, to you I wish a most special evening with your companion.' Ruby suddenly vowed to give her stylist a generous bonus for deciding to smear so much foundation on her face. Her blush was hidden from even Sherlock's perceptive gaze.

'Try not to work too hard Carson.' Ruby said after regaining some of her composure.

'I will do my best.' The pair moved away from the scrutiny of Ruby's butler and beneath an archway of intricately woven ivy.

'Blonde?' Was Sherlock's first question.

'Don't.' Ruby said while self-consciously touching the wig.

'I prefer the red.'

'Well, at least we agree on that.' Ruby muttered, staring harshly at the detective. He held the gaze with annoying nonchalance for a few moments before stepping closer.

'Shall we?' He murmured, his voice taking on a velvet-soft tone as he offered her his arm. Ruby felt heat rise to her cheeks once again and could only manage a nod as she linked her arm through Sherlock's, allowing him to guide her to the awaiting party.

* * *

**Well, maybe their reunion didn't make you LOL but perhaps it made you scream? I have wanted this for so long, Sherlock and Ruby, in a formal setting. Gah. Cannot WAIT to share the next chapter with you. It's going to be soooo much fun to write. But until then, your imagination must fill in the gaps. Why is Sherlock there? What will Mycroft think? And most importantly, what is going on with Ruby's poor nerves at this sudden appearance of the dark-haired detective? Review if you please. If you don't, I may just hold the next chapter hostage! Oh no, wait. I'm not one of those mean writers who needs twenty reviews to satisfy their ego before publishing again. So I'll post it when it's written. Yeah, I'm nice like that. But please review. And to the followers and favouriters... let's just say when I hit either 200 reviews or 100 favourites, I'll post something truly lovely as a reward for your support.**


	28. Chapter 28

**Ulterior Motives**

'Why are you here?' It was a question inspired from curiosity yet sounded as if Ruby had taken personal offence to Sherlock's presence. Her snappy manner (though at present she would not admit to this) was inspired by the last time the two were in each other's company, a scene of quite a sensational nature where Sherlock and Ruby had formed something of a human braid.

'To support you on what must be a very taxing weekend.'

'Bullshit.' Ruby snapped as he guided her towards the nearest marquee, her heart beginning to hammer madly in her chest. This couldn't be happening. Sherlock Holmes was not linking her arm and marching her to the marquee in front of them. She was dreaming… or had accidently ingested drugs. Yes that sounded more plausible. Her senses were being courted by a concoction of drugs, forcing her to see, touch, hear and even _smell _the world's most annoying detective.

'Careful with that language, can't be having the host's only daughter sporting a potty mouth.'

'Then stop lying.' Ruby hissed, trying and failing to ignore the sumptuous decoration of the sprawling marquee which now that she properly looked at it, appeared to be made of _silk_. Delicate lavender Chinese lanterns, each no larger than a rubix cube, were strung along the inside of the tent where real candles with a hint of oriental spice flickered from their colourful perches. A labyrinth of white, handcrafted chairs were set in sixes around delicately hewn tables accessorised with elegant waiters sporting spotless silver trays with the most expensive entrees available to buy. A thick carpet of royal purple banished any grass from peering into the event and placed with an almost hideous precision on each table were an arrangement of lilies, purple tulips, orchids, gardenias, hydrangeas and peonies...

The cost of each bouquet was astronomical.

A well-groomed man in a creaseless tuxedo showed Sherlock and Ruby to their table where the first champagne toast of the night would be held, followed by the opening of the night's "fun events" which would be announced by Ruby's parents in a stodgy speech. She couldn't help but snort derisively, a snort which Sherlock presumed was directed his way.

'Fine, obviously you're not the only reason for my being here.' He admitted. For reasons she wasn't wholly comfortable with, Ruby's stomach dropped at this abrupt dismissal of Sherlock's original explanation. The thought of him coming out to simply annoy people who would constantly test the tenacity of her nerves was a romantic concept she was saddened to be so abruptly torn from. She watched Sherlock for a moment as his eyes swept around the cavernous room, taking in a level of detail Ruby refused to think about.

'Then why are you gate-crashing my parents' anniversary?' She eventually managed to ask, her thoughts straying from how tastefully the chosen tulip nestled in Sherlock's breast pocket complimented their purple surroundings.

'Why do I usually do anything?' Sherlock asked.

'For the case.'

'Of course. Then there are slight deviations, deviations which I must investigate such as why my dearest brother has decided to make it his business over the last six months to cosy up to your parents.' Sherlock sat aloofly in his chair, his eyes scanning over the name cards of the other four empty seats, two of which held Ruby's parents' names in delicate calligraphy. Sherlock's attention however was rooted to the card resting in front of Ruby's place. Ruby's eyes followed Sherlock's gaze until she realised with a sickening jolt that her mother had deemed it proper for her full birth name to be printed on her card. Sherlock's eyes took their time travelling towards Ruby's challenging glare, amusement twinkling in the peppermint irises despite his lips remaining in a firm, straight line.

'Meredith?' He asked while maintaining an admirably indifferent tone.

'Not anymore.'

'You changed it to Ruby after your eighteenth birthday.'

'I was hardly going to keep a ridiculous name like Meredith when I chose to pursue life outside of snobbish society.'

'I kept mine.'

'Sherlock's a wonderful name. Meredith is just….' Ruby shook her head. 'It doesn't suit me the way your name suits you.' She explained while a hand bolted out and quickly snatched the incriminating card from view. 'And why are you so concerned about Mycroft courting my parent's trust fund?' She asked, desperate to change the topic from this mortifying revelation.

'I don't believe it's a question of money, though a sizeable portion of tonight's funds are going towards what your parents – and more worryingly my brother – believe to be a worthy cause. Mycroft always sends someone else in his stead to these events as he finds the continuous small talk a cumbersome distraction from work of significantly greater importance. This is a moment of rarity as I find myself wholly agreeing with my brother; however, as you've seen for yourself, our definition of "important work" differs greatly.'

'So why do you think he's here?'

'Could be any number of things but all lead back to the one thing Mycroft is desperate to protect: the commonwealth. A case of National Security. Again. How dull. But I have to be sure just in case it might entail something of a more interesting dimension.' Ruby's eyes fell once again to Sherlock's name card and another question popped into her head.

'So how did you do it?'

'There are many things I have done which would pique your interest such as having a waiter deliberately throw a glass of wine over me and chuck me from his restaurant while declaring to all passers-by of my inebriated state. Be less vague Ruby, we've had this discussion before.' Sherlock muttered; his attention fixed on the entrance of the marquee which was slowly beginning to fill. His gaze lazily flicked back to Ruby who was trying to figure out when and where it would be necessary for Sherlock to ask a waiter to throw a glass of wine over him.

'How did you persuade Carson to allow you into the party?'

'_Persuade_ him?' Sherlock spat. 'I did nothing of the sort. Dinosaurs such as him are lost to external influence, even mine.'

'Explain.' Ruby said, not liking the expression of "we both know how I really did it" painting Sherlock's features.

'Nothing to it. Broke into dear old Carson's quarters, borrowed the list, made an amendment beside your name in an almost perfect imitation of his handwriting and snuck the parchment back inside his room and left without disturbing the old man or his cat. And voila! I'm now staying in the mansion and have access to the three night extravaganza which is your parent's celebration of quite frankly, an anniversary of dubious numerical value. And the simple beauty of it? Carson couldn't doubt his own handwriting.' Sherlock said with a sly grin, rattling off the description in an unnervingly fast voice. His eyes watched her for a moment as she bit her lower lip, trying to understand how he could execute such a dangerous task with what appeared to be minimal effort and a bizarre sort of grace.

'Brilliant.' Ruby eventually muttered, replacing her lip with her thumb, the side of which she began to chew in earnest.

'If you say so.' Sherlock tried to remain indifferent to the compliment though Ruby could imagine his ego purring at the praise. 'Ah, here comes Mycroft.' Sherlock's lazy smile faded as his brother, complete with unopened umbrella, strode towards their table, his languid strides especially slow due to the duo he was conversing with. Just as the two elderly men said a hushed goodbye and headed towards their table, Mycroft caught sight of the audience awaiting him. His brows contracted into familiar grooves of disapproval and his pace increased as he quickly tried to plan a way to get rid of his tyrant of a little brother.

'Evening Mycroft, won't you join us? It does say your name on this little placard after all.' Sherlock drawled pleasantly, an evil smirk twisting his features.

'Sherlock, what exactly are you doing here?' Mycroft demanded; throwing away his usual disparaging temperament for one of impatience as he angrily took his chair on Sherlock's left.

'Isn't that curious, I was just discussing with Ruby how I was uncovering your dodgy reasons for attending such a… _chatty _event.'

'I have my reasons, reasons which I imagine are far more noble than your own seeing as you forged your way into this… party.'

'Forged? Whatever –'

'Don't patronize me Sherlock, anyone with one good eye could tell that hasty addition to the butler's guest list was not made by his own hand.'

'Yet he himself is convinced of the craftsmanship. The power of the mind, interesting is it not?'

'Don't play games Sherlock; you are always such a sore loser.' Mycroft turned his attention with some difficulty to Ruby. 'And how are you finding yourself this evening Ruby? Or as I'm sure you'd prefer to be addressed in such grand surroundings; Lady Smith?'

'Ruby will do just fine Mycroft.' She responded in a tight voice.

'If you insist… Though I find myself compelled to admit that with regards to events such as these, I have missed them. The broken ties of the Holmes and Smith family two generations ago were seen to be irreparable. But look what time has done, we are all together like old chums once again.' He smiled evilly, the expression sending chills down Ruby's back. 'Of course, where I find myself quite flummoxed is the fact that you knew of my brother's tactless method of gaining access to tonight's events and yet you turn the other cheek and allow him to stay at a party he has no right to be attending.'

There was a certain dimension to Mycroft's bombastic nature which inflicted casual wounds Ruby could not overlook as she could with Sherlock. She remembered what John had said about Sherlock having more heart than his older brother and realised he was absolutely right. The dark-haired detective was no cuddly bear but compared with Mycroft, he might as well be.

'Sherlock is my friend. If it pleases him to come to such an arduous event, I can only hope he'll save the evening from being filled with tedious boredom.' Ruby noticed Sherlock's head turn slightly as she rose to his defence. It was also the first time she'd ever declared to anyone of her friendship with the consulting detective, a declaration which she found to her pleasure, received no contradiction.

'_Another_ friend? Is that two now?'

'It's more than you have.' Sherlock said smoothly, eyeing his brother with unveiled distrust, an expression which was reflected by the elder Holmes. Before the two could start bickering again, a silence raced around the room, announcing the arrival of Ruby's parents. They walked with what they would describe as a dignified air, something which Ruby could only identify as being very _posh_. They boarded the podium with a graceful ease and turned to their awaiting audience filled with friends bought with cold, hard cash. The only loyal friend of the lot stood to the back of the marquee, peering through with unveiled pride at the smoothness in which the event had taken off. Ruby caught Carson's eye and gave him the biggest smile she could muster, probably looking slightly demented judging by Mycroft's frown. Carson returned the expression with a slight curl of lips and a small bow. What Ruby wouldn't give for an exuberantly enthusiastic wave…

Her parents soon began addressing the crowd who they described as their "closest friends and family". Ruby knew for a fact that her parents would be hard-pushed to remember anything more than the names of the some three hundred well-dressed guests watching the execution of arguably the dullest speech in history. Mycroft sat with a rigid gait, his eyes rooted to the small stage, giving Ruby's parents his utmost attention. Sherlock on the other hand, was hurriedly scribbling something onto his thick napkin which seconds before had been folded into a delicate swan. He folded the napkin neatly and placed it on Ruby's lap, his mouth twitching as Mycroft's glare threatened to burn holes through him for the rude distraction. Ruby tried to wait at least ten seconds (a perfectly polite pause in her opinion) before ripping open the napkin which simply read:

_I could use the hairspray in your clutch to set this entire marquee on fire within seconds. Think it might add a little heat to a speech so dull, my brother finds it interesting?_

Ruby bit firmly on her lower lip to stop herself from giggling. Why did everything suddenly become ten times funnier when you weren't allowed to laugh? She quickly found herself thinking of a reply to save her from the irresistible tug of laughter that was begging for release, not to mention wondering how Sherlock could know of the tiny bottle of hairspray in her clutch. She nabbed the elegant pen lying innocently on the table and hurriedly scrawled a response.

_Is that the best distraction you could think of? I'm disappointed, I would have thought you would do something with the flowers seeing as their perfume is threatening to knock me out. _

She passed the napkin as discreetly as she could to the consulting detective, opting to place it on top of his hand instead of his thigh. He casually flicked the napkin over, arching an eyebrow at the note before his eyes flashed around the room. He smirked, swiped the pen still gripped between Ruby's fingers and began writing what looked like an essay, flipping over the napkin and scrawling more words onto the back. He eventually handed the napkin back to Ruby who had all but completely forgotten about her parents' speech and was immune to the disapproving look Mycroft kept sending the pair every thirty seconds or so. She hurriedly righted the napkin and eagerly began to read.

_You want interesting? Fine, but be warned, you asked for a distraction which __**I**__ would classify as interesting. Hypothetically, there is an item in this marquee of infinite value, one which many parties both on the legal and illegal side of operations are eager to get their hands on. The CIA sends in special agents to infiltrate the party by dressing up in elaborate clothing etc. At the signal, they move in on said object, gain possession of it then swiftly leave with no-one the wiser. Unfortunately for them the Soviets are also present and they want this object too. So a conflict of interest occurs and the CIA and Soviets end up fighting (inevitable really) then Mycroft's posse step in to try and avert an international scandal. By now guns are drawn, the entire guest list is held hostage and the rats of the illegal underworld now pounce after delicately biding their time. They are the waiters as I'm sure you've now guessed. They swoop in to pry the object from the hands of one of the British operatives. All hell breaks loose and in the chaos which ensues; I step forward, lightly take the object into custody, slip it into your clutch and we casually leave through the waiter's entrance. The object is lost to corrupt governments and the equally corrupt underworld and we have to endure not a second longer of this meandering and tiresome speech. _

_Win. Win. _

Ruby re-read Sherlock's words eagerly, smiling at some of the more ludicrous points before delicately folding it and placing the napkin into her clutch. Sherlock frowned questioningly at her actions to which Ruby quickly wrote on a spare napkin the message:

_As if I would let evidence of Sherlock Holmes creating fiction escape my gasp. You're such a closet romantic, it's slightly frightening. _

He frowned before scribbling a response:

_I'm the furthest thing from a romantic._

Ruby shook her head for a moment, smiling slightly at a private joke Sherlock was not privy to understanding, one which he would have to leave for later inquiry as Ruby's parents finally finished inflicting their opinions on the world and descended from the stage, leading the way to the neighbouring marquee. In this, the seating arrangement was the same but as Ruby sat down with the Holmes brothers, her parents decided to finally join them. They nodded in familiarity to Mycroft, her father greeting him with special warmth, grasping his hand for a period slightly longer than was socially acceptable.

'And… you are?' Ruby's mother drawled when her heavily made-up eyes fell on Sherlock, her gaze full of disapproval as she took in his unbuttoned blouse and half-heartedly raised tie. She had her hair elaborately piled on top of her head, jewels encrusted her fingers and a stunning sapphire hung from her neck. A handmade dress of deepest purple sheathed her slim figure, the design and execution of her favourite designer. Ruby unconsciously held her breath; this was a moment she had only dreamed would happen; Sherlock Holmes meeting her mother. What would he insult first? The obvious botox, her sickly vanity, perhaps her hands which unlike the rest of her visible skin, remained wrinkled?

'Lady Smith, may I present my younger brother, Sherlock Holmes.' Mycroft chimed in before either Ruby or Sherlock could get a word in.

'Your younger brother? The brilliant one?' Ruby's father boomed, his many chins shaking jovially and his silver moustache quivering from excitement. He had a fantastic head of hair for his age, no receding hairline, not even a hint of a bald patch on his crown. His sparkling green eyes were the only genetic gift he'd handed down to his daughter, with Ruby receiving most of her genes from her mother's side.

'Well, I'm not sure when I employed that adjective –' Mycroft began.

'The private detective, how interesting.' Interrupted Ruby's father. Sherlock glanced at his placard which read _Harold Smith. _He insisted everyone call him Harry except for those whom he detested. Funnily enough, Ruby's mum, Meredith senior, always referred to her father as Harold.

'Consulting.' Sherlock said stiffly, provoking a stinging glare from his older brother at this correction.

'A consulting detective? I've never heard of such a thing.' Harry muttered.

'Probably because I invented the job.' Sherlock said airily, his usual arrogance surrounding his profession giving Ruby something to smile about. It amazed her that even in such loquacious surroundings, Sherlock's intelligence and belief in himself remained absolute. It was nice having such a firm presence beside her in a world fuelled by smoke and mirrors. Perhaps this evening wouldn't be as horrific an ordeal as previously imagined.

'You never said you were bringing Holmes junior with you Mycroft.' Meredith snootily interrupted, looking down her surgically shortened nose at the dark haired detective.

'That's because he didn't, mother.' Ruby murmured, resisting the urge to chew on the side of her thumb.

'I beg your pardon?' Meredith questioned.

'Mycroft didn't invite Sherlock; I did.'

'But that makes no sense, how on earth would you know this man?' Ruby was astonished at Sherlock's almost patient silence. He was being talked of as if he weren't there, something which Ruby knew he did not take kindly to. Was he biding his time for some super-duper deduction which would shatter her parent's self-esteem for all time?

'From work.' Ruby said shortly.

'I don't know what you're talking about.' Meredith said loudly while looking to her husband for reassurance. The very knowledge that their only heir would rather covert with police officers instead of showing an interest in her future estate was one which they had chosen not to accept. So where Ruby's promotion as the youngest detective in London's history was concerned, her parents remained deliberately ignorant.

'Of course you don't.' Ruby said with a heavy sigh, one which was not missed by either of the Holmes brothers. A muscle in her jaw which only her mother had the ability to provoke began jumping irregularly as Ruby's gaze fixed on her lap, trying to gain a grip on her emotions. It had been so much easier at dinner last night because she was able to cope without an audience watching. Having Sherlock observe the way her parents treated her triggered hot waves of black shame to creep down her spine.

'So Sherlock, how did you find yourself in this consulting business then?' Harry asked, his booming voice sweeping away any of the previous tension. Or so he thought.

'I started young, I was only a kid. I became interested in a death which took place at a swimming pool. The police didn't treat it as suspicious, just a tragic accident. They wouldn't listen to me –'

'And why should they take the advice of a child over their experts?' Mycroft lazily interrupted, glancing apologetically at Meredith and Harold.

'Because I was _right_, as I proved a few years ago if you care to remember _Mycroft_. Carl Powers, clostridium botulinum, entered his blood stream through his eczema cream by the hand of a certain…_criminal_ then he died in the swimming pool as a result.'

'Crikey, look at him go.' Harold said while scratching his silver hair. 'So tell me Sherlock, how long have you known my daughter then?'

'Why?' Sherlock snapped.

'_Why_?' Harold asked incredulously.

'Yes. Why? Or if you would prefer a different phrasing, how about why do you deem it relevant to know the exact amount of time Ruby –'

'Her name is Meredith, not that hooker name.' Meredith interrupted; her blue eyes steely with anger.

'I am of the opinion people should be called by their name as is recognised by law.' Sherlock said smoothly, ignoring the interruption. 'As I was saying, why is it relevant to know the exact amount of time Ruby and I have spent together with regards to the formation of your opinion of me? Unless you are worried of some sort of romantic attachment which in that case you would be seriously put out that your own daughter had not enlightened you of such a commitment, the length of which you would ascertain from my response.' Sherlock cocked his head slightly to the side at Harold's flabbergasted expression, the movement conveying the unvoiced remark Sherlock usually made at the end of such deductions:

Problem?

'I'll take your silence as confirmation of my deduction so let me put any dwindling thoughts of that nature firmly to rest. The relationship between Ruby and I is one of strictest professionalism (Ruby was vividly reminded of the evening Sherlock had asked her how to kiss someone) and there is nothing of a romantic nature going on between us. (A breath of their last kiss rose to her lips) My brother will assure you of the sincerity of this remark as he knows I am already spoken for.'

'You're married?' Meredith asked in amazement, trying to imagine a woman insane enough who would want this abrasive character for a husband.

'No my lady, you misinterpret my brother's overly zealous descriptions. He considers himself too busy solving cases to ever make time for a relationship. Such an excursion would only bring boredom to his doorstep you see, so it is at a stretch that one might describe Sherlock as being "married" to his work.' Mycroft patiently explained; glaring daggers at Sherlock to keep his mouth shut from now on.

'Ah, finally! What we've all secretly been waiting for.' Harold announced as dinner was promptly served, elegant waiters executing their service with impeccable style and time.

'If the plates aren't warm, this catering company aren't getting their pay-check. If I've told them once, I've told them a thousand times about warm plates. You'd think with the prices these people charge that they'd have this tacked down in basic training.' Meredith said with a dangerous shake of her head.

Dinner passed as pleasantly as it could. Overall Sherlock's behaviour remained jilted but he was making a decent effort to suppress his abrasive personality. Apart from his demand of an explanation as to the length of time Ruby and him knew each other for, he'd remained perfectly quiet… almost docile. And probably most suspicious, Sherlock actually ate the food placed in front of him.

Soon they were transported to the next marquee where a bar and dance floor had been expertly set up. As was the case with the previous marquee, Ruby ignored the luscious decorations and ordered herself a White Russian. After winking at the bartender, she found a momentarily quiet corner and proceeded to down the drink, hoping the alcohol would make this evening pass by faster.

'A little disappointing to be chasing the state of inebriation so early in the evening, wouldn't you agree?' A voice commented over her shoulder. She turned and felt her heart stutter at the striking figure Sherlock cut in a suit.

'Why are you wearing a tie?' She blurted, taking offence at the knotted piece of material nestled near Sherlock's throat.

'It's part of the disguise.' He explained patiently.

'And why are you being so… _nice_?' She hissed while taking a step closer. 'Where have you gone?' She demanded, furiously searching his eyes, hoping to find a resemblance to the insulting detective who had made an appearance at the start of the night but had since been reported missing over dinner.

'I'm right here.' He murmured softly. 'I'm not going anywhere either, that's the whole point in keeping up this charade. Your parents believe me to be a slightly eccentric, workaholic genius and because of this, they'll allow me to stay over the next three days to figure out what Mycroft's up to.'

'I don't like it when you suppress yourself.' Ruby argued, memories of her sister's similar suppression clawing at the back of her throat.

'Back at you.' Sherlock muttered, his hand reaching forward and fingering one of the blonde locks falling from Ruby's up-do. 'I need to find Mycroft's men to ascertain the seriousness of this situation.' Sherlock said, instantly switching back to obsessive consulting-detective from what Ruby had hoped might be a moment of tenderness.

'Alright, I'll see you later then.' Ruby said, eyeing the bar once again.

'What are you talking about "later"? I need to find them. _Now_.'

'Then _go_.' Ruby said with a frown. He didn't need her permission to do this.

'Oh! You don't see.' Sherlock said with a shake of his head, a devious smirk pulling at his lips.

Uh oh. That was never good.

'Don't see…what?'

'The best way to observe is to do so from a vantage point hidden from those watching.'

'And the best way to hide from those watching is to do a jig right in front of their noses, right?' Ruby asked, remembering the conversation Sherlock had conducted with Mycroft about the topic of disguise.

'Exactly.' Sherlock said. Ruby's eyes fell on the surrounding crowd, on the thirty piece orchestra who were starting up a mournful waltz. Slowly, couples began taking to the expertly set up dance floor, gently revolving around the polished wood, their expensive dresses billowing in their self-manufactured breeze. As realisation dawned on Ruby, a thousand excuses and fears leapt to her tongue but all of them failed when she returned her attention to Sherlock. Her eyes were glued to his extended hand, his fingers reaching across the gap separating them as if he were offering to save her life.

'If I might be so bold… as to ask for this dance?'

* * *

**Why is this story so fun to write? I'm sitting on my bed grinning like an idiot as I typed out that last paragraph. Phew, this was a long chapter, I'm wrecked! Worth it, SO worth it! And I have to say, you guys are ridiculous, that measly last chapter of some 2,500 words received 17 reviews. SEVENTEEN! WHAT HAPPY, RIDICULOUSLY GENEROUS VIRUS HAS INFECTED ALL OF MY LOVELY READERS? I don't know... but I seriously love it. The offer still stands of a surprise for you guys upon either reaching 200 reviews or 100 favourites. You're all so lovely, I hope you enjoyed the interaction between Mycroft, Meredith (LOL Ruby's actual name HAH.) and the jovial Harold. (Who looks a bit like santa's slightly more rebellious brother in my head) And I just have to say... the next few chapters, I will make you squeal. I know exactly where this is going. But you don't (obviously!) but seriously, you won't guess. Not even close. So strange, I've written almost 5,000 words and I' hungry to write the next chapter. I'd almost immediately start it if it weren't for the small fact that it's 2:30 in the morning... Have to at least give myself a chance to be awake tomorrow. Thank you once again, my PM function was all messed up but I think it's fixed, so expect some gushy replies to your reviews!**


	29. Chapter 29

**Dancing With a Shadow**

'No.' Ruby blurted before she could stop herself. Something flicked over Sherlock's features, but it was gone before she could identify it.

'No?' Sherlock asked; his head cocked to the side, his hand still outstretched.

'I don't dance.' Those three words didn't quite explain Ruby's strict aversion to this "pleasant" pastime.

'You… don't… dance?'

'Look Sherlock; I understand you need to "observe the room" and all, but can't you just ask someone else? Perhaps someone with a lighter foot?'

'You're afraid of making a fool of yourself as you do not possess the delicate grace and balance necessary for a good dancing partner?'

'Gee, well when you put it like that, how could I possibly decline?' Ruby spat, placing her empty glass on a nearby table. 'Ask someone else, that group of women over there have been giggling over you since we entered this marquee.' She nodded towards the exuberantly dressed ladies at the other end of the dance floor who kept shooting Sherlock hopeful glances.

'I don't want them.'

'And you want _me_?' Ruby asked sarcastically. Her heart might have migrated into her throat where it continued to hammer madly, but that did not distort her knowledge of Sherlock's character. 'Are you afraid of asking one of those women to dance?'

'Don't be absurd. You are obviously the better match as you're already familiar with my character, there will be no need for small talk and you know why it is that I wish to inflict my presence on the dance floor to begin with. Quite a mouthful to explain to a new lady don't you think?' Sherlock had dropped his hand by now and had stepped closer, his eyes boring down into her own.

'Invading my personal space will not make me yield, Sherlock.' She said while squaring her shoulders.

'Oh, you misinterpret my actions.'

'What are you – Oi! Sherlock, what are you playing at –' His arm had slipped discreetly around her waist and he had abruptly pulled her closer.

'I'm not sure when I gave the illusion that you had a choice in this matter. Refuse me once again and I'll have no problem picking you up and depositing you at the centre of the dance floor. I believe you walking by my side would garner less attention, wouldn't you agree?'

'That's a pretty empty threat Sherlock.'

'You think I'm bluffing?'

'You couldn't pick me up if you tried.' Sherlock's lips quirked at this remark concerning his lean frame.

'Would you care to bet money on such a crass observation?' He practically purred, his eyes dancing with a challenge. Ruby didn't respond, instead her hands shot out and she gave Sherlock's upper arms a firm squeeze and was genuinely surprised to find his biceps springing to attention beneath her fingers.

'Satisfied?' Sherlock drawled after a decidedly awkward pause.

'_How_ do you have muscle tone?' Ruby asked with her mouth hanging open exasperatedly, an expression only exaggerated by her heavy make-up. 'You don't eat; I'm surprised you haven't contracted scurvy or something.'

'I eat enough to sustain myself and knowledge of martial arts explains my wiry strength, though my lean frame always allows for enemies to underestimate me, leading to their inevitable downfall in a physical confrontation.' Ruby allowed herself a moment to imagine a teenage Sherlock kitted out in judo robes championing over some 6'4 ripped competitor, scoffing at his dreadful execution of the simplest techniques.

'I hate dancing.' Ruby admitted in a defeated voice, her hands sliding from his upper arms and returning to her sides.

'Dancing is just another mating ritual devised by sex-starved idiot's centuries ago. There's nothing to it, just follow my lead.' Sherlock said pompously. Ruby stared wide-eyed at Sherlock for a moment, feeling slightly nauseated by what could only be described as a horrifically accurate description. 'Are you feeling alright? You suddenly look pasty despite the frankly ridiculous amount of foundation you're wearing.'

'Take it up with my make-up artist.' Ruby snapped, silently vowing that she would never dance with anyone ever again after helping Sherlock out with his observations. 'C'mon then. Let's get this over with.' Ruby hissed, pulling away so Sherlock's arm fell from her waist. However, she made the split decision to grab his falling hand and lead him towards the dance floor, her small fingers barely managing to cover the back of his broad palm.

'Your heart beat is worryingly elevated.' Sherlock commented and Ruby realised with a start that he could feel the pounding of her fickle heart through their joined hands.

'Yours would be too if you were about to confront a severe phobia.' She said in a firm voice, trying to convince herself of this thought as well as Sherlock. Seconds from now, their bodies would be pressed against each other for at least a solid three minutes and the last time this had occurred, neither had been very interested in creating small talk.

The orchestra finished their last song which was honoured with a smattering of applause. Ruby dropped Sherlock's hand and faced him, feeling for a moment truly vulnerable as she hesitated to cross the gap separating them.

'Why are you so worried?' Sherlock's voice was dipped in annoyance as his sharp eyes scanned her like a machine.

'I… I'm really not good at this and there's so many judgmental idiots watching –'

'Exactly. Idiots. Don't waste a second caring for what's going on inside their empty little heads.'

'Then there's you. And we both know I care about what goes on in there.' She tapped his forehead housing arguably the best brain Britain had ever produced. Ruby blamed the White Russian for coaxing a slightly deeper explanation than she was wholly comfortable with regarding her uncertainty with Sherlock.

'And you think a lightness of foot can enhance or degrade my impression of you? Dear me Ruby, you call yourself a detective with such a poor grasp of my character? Disappointing…' He shook his head for a moment before stepping closer, his shoes just brushing against the tip of her heels. 'If it's of any consolation, I happen to be a superb dancer. It's the violin; it allows me to keep exquisite timing.' One arm returned to her waist, while the other very delicately encompassed her hand. Ruby lightly placed her hand on Sherlock's shoulder and felt her thoughts lose track of themselves as their bodies pressed lightly against one another. 'It's easier than breathing. And we both know how dull an exercise that is.' Sherlock said in a pompously reassuring manner.

Instead of the orchestra continuing, a spotlight suddenly burned its way onto the raised platform and Ruby let out an audible gasp as a woman in a floor length white gown entered with a chaste smile and approached the microphone placed at the centre of the podium.

'Oh my…' Ruby stared at the beautiful young woman onstage, not quite believing who was to perform the next song.

'Someone you know?' Sherlock asked.

'Not personally, just an admirer from afar… but how?' Ruby shook her head for a moment before returning her attention to Sherlock. 'You have no idea who that is… do you?' She asked.

'She's unnecessary to my inquiries.'

'That's Lana Del Rey, Sherlock. The woman with a ridiculously sultry voice and seductive philosophy concerning life.'

'Which is…?'

'Give her album a listen and maybe you'll find out.'

'Hmm, modern music. Dull.'

Ruby could only smile as the starting notes signalled the unveiling of one of her favourite songs. It was a highly dysfunctional one about love, drugs and all the horrible things money could buy; entitled: National Anthem.

_Money is the anthem  
Of success  
So before we go out  
What's your address?_

A truly surreal air took over the marquee as Lana's dulcet tones drastically changed the atmosphere, lending towards a more sinister and indulgent ambience. Ruby momentarily forgot her fears of clumsy feet and allowed Sherlock to guide her in neat circles around the dance floor.

_I'm your National Anthem  
God, you're so handsome  
Take me to the Hamptons  
Bugatti Veyron_

'A song about rich morons?' He murmured after the second verse.

'Probably.' Ruby replied, suddenly finding their closeness as a source of comfort rather than a trigger of heart palpations. 'You need to do your observing gig right?' She asked.

'I'm doing so.'

'You probably need me to move my head out of the way.' She said, attracting his curious gaze which was trying so very hard _not _to betray his lack of understanding.

'Your head?' He asked with a raised brow.

'It must be in the way of your observations.'

'I don't follow.'

_He loves to romance them  
Reckless abandon  
Holdin' me for ransom  
Upper echelon_

'Well, compare your current line of sight with this one.' Ruby felt the bizarre sense of courage flow through her veins, returning with unexpected familiarity after her last excursion with Sherlock and alcohol. After moving even closer (she didn't think that was actually possible) she leant her head against the shoulder her hand rested on, her nose nestled against Sherlock's neck. She felt him momentarily flinch from the unexpected contact but to her pleasant surprise, he did not pull away. 'Better?' She whispered, her nerves jangling in the aftermath of the boldness of her move.

'Much.' Sherlock replied softly.

_He says to "be cool" but  
I don't know how yet  
Wind in my hair  
Hand on the back of my neck  
I said, "Can we party later on?"  
He said, "Yes, yes, yes"_

He continued to lead them around the floor, observing his surroundings with that sharpness he was so famous for, never relaxing his grip on the woman in red cradled against him.

_Tell me I'm your National Anthem  
Ooh, yeah baby, bow down  
Making me so wow, wow  
Tell me I'm your National Anthem  
Sugar, sugar, how now  
Take your body down town  
Red, white, blue's in the sky  
Summer's in the air and  
Baby, heaven's in your eyes  
I'm your National Anthem_

'I do have one question.'

'Oh?' Ruby asked, unknowingly sending chills down Sherlock's spine with her breathy response.

'There's a man who ever since we began dancing, has been sending me glares of the most threatening, not mention _hilarious_ manner.'

'Describe him to me.'

'You're not going to look?'

'Mmm, nope.' Ruby nuzzled the side of Sherlock's skin ever so slightly to prove said point.

_Money is the reason  
We exist  
Everybody knows it, it's a fact  
Kiss, kiss_

'Above average height. Blonde hair. In excellent physical condition. Wearing a suit tailored specially for him and fitted with one carat diamond cuff links. A gold pocket watch, his father's, is leaning casually out of the breast pocket. He's recently passed away and the man believes that this display of a family heirloom will endear him to those in his social circle when in reality; he comes across as a trust-fund baby who has finally come into the money he has always felt was unfairly kept from him. And judging by the furious look in his eyes, he will insist later to buy me a drink which he will, in a painfully obvious way, deposit a small amount of poison into.'

'Oh. That must be Charles Bloom. As I'm sure you've deduced he holds a grudge, an exceptionally long one with regards to me.'

_I sing the National Anthem  
While I'm standing over your body  
Hold you like a python  
And you can't keep your hands off me  
Or your pants on  
See what you've done to me  
King of Chevron_

'Your rejection must have been particularly harsh to incur such a long-standing wrath.'

'My rejection was perfectly polite. My sister's on the other hand…'

'And what exactly did Dianne do?'

'When he wouldn't back off, she, eh, decked him.'

'Ah, that explains the broken nose. Not exactly the most galling story, I'm sure he replaced it with one of how he heroically saved a girl from being stabbed while defending himself with his bare fists.'

_He said to "be cool" but  
I'm already coolest  
I said to, "Get real,"  
"Don't you know who you're dealing with  
Um, do you think you'll buy me lots of diamonds?"_

'It's fair to say that the Smith sisters ruffled his pride.' Ruby giggled against Sherlock's skin. 'If you've taken an intense dislike to him and you really want to get under his skin, I'll give you a free pass –punch-free I promise– to grab my ass.' Sherlock actually stopped midstride and stared down at Ruby who couldn't maintain her poker-face and burst into a fit of silent laughter, reluctantly pulling away from Sherlock's shoulder. 'When I need a camera, I don't have one. My memory _has _to remember your face.' She said while hungrily devouring Sherlock's thunderstruck expression. The very notion of Sherlock grabbing _anyone's_ ass in public was truly ludicrous.

_Tell me I'm your National Anthem  
Ooh, yeah baby, bow down  
Making me so wow, wow  
Tell me I'm your National Anthem  
Sugar, sugar how now  
Take your body down town  
Red, white, blue's in the sky  
Summer's in the air and  
Baby, heaven's in your eyes  
I'm your National Anthem_

'Move.' Sherlock said through gritted teeth as he tried to guide the forever giggling Ruby around the dance floor. She slowly managed to regain control of her laughter, turning it down to a manic grin as Sherlock continued to lead her with a greater force around the dance floor. 'Put your head back, I don't like to see this Charles Bloom's glare relaxing if I can help it.'

'But Sherlock –'

'It makes for easier dancing too.' Sherlock quipped, sending her a look which yelled at her to not argue with him.

_It's a love story for the new age  
For the six page  
Want a quick sick rampage?  
Wining and dining  
Drinking and driving  
Excessive buying  
Overdose and dyin'  
On our drugs and our love  
And our dreams and our rage  
Blurring the lines between real and the fake  
Dark and lonely  
I need somebody to hold me  
He will do very well  
I can tell, I can tell  
Keep me safe in his bell tower, hotel_

'You could just admit it you know.' Ruby mumbled against his neck.

'Admit what?'

'That you like this.' She felt heat rush to her cheeks at this remark.

_Money is the anthem  
Of success  
So put on mascara and your party dress_

'What absurd nonsense are you spewing now detective? As you correctly noted, your head placed where it is allows me full observation of our surroundings.'

'This is true, but instead of looking for Mycroft's men, all you've commented on is a man highly jealous of our dancing.'

_I'm your National Anthem  
Boy, put your hands up  
Give me a standing ovation  
Boy, you have landed  
Babe, in the land of  
Sweetness and Danger  
Queen of Saigon_

'If I spoke of every single thing I observed, I would never stop talking.' Sherlock sharply spun them out of the way of a neighbouring couple who appeared set on crashing into them.

'So you've identified Mycroft's men?'

'Ages ago. Mycroft's losing his touch, it was child's play.'

'When you say you observe everything… are you observing me?'

'Obviously.'

'Tell me what you see.'

_Tell me I'm your National Anthem  
Ooh, yeah baby, bow down  
Making me so wow, wow  
Tell me I'm your National Anthem  
Sugar, sugar how now  
Take your body down town  
Red, white, blue's in the sky  
Summer's in the air and  
Baby, heaven's in your eyes  
I'm your National Anthem_

'An open invitation to analyse you? I don't see how our friendship could benefit from such a deduction; you'd take offence and think I was insulting you.'

'Isn't an insult an honest description of someone's flaws?'

'No-one wants an honest description of themselves.'

'Why do you think that is?'

'They can't handle the truth. The world is built on lies as I'm sure you've realised by now.'

_Money is the anthem  
God you're so handsome  
Money is the anthem  
Of success_

'I can handle it.'

'Hush now.' Sherlock's hand slid away from her waist and Ruby thought he was going to remove it completely. Instead, he delicately placed it on the small of her back, which thanks to a lack of material, was completely naked. His touch was cool against her flushed skin, inspiring chills to ripple outwards from his smooth hand, his fingers delicately tracing patterns along the curve of her spine.

_Money is the anthem  
God you're so handsome  
Money is the anthem  
Of success_

Ruby exhaled sharply at his touch but did nothing to remove herself from his hypnotic grasp. She closed her eyes and allowed him to blindly lead her around the dance floor, a snoozing part of her mind convinced that Sherlock was doing about as much observing of his surroundings as she was.

_Money is the anthem  
God you're so handsome  
Money is the anthem  
Of success_

His warm skin pressed against her nose, his smell, the gentle way his fingers intertwined around her own were all heightened by the severing of her primary sense. She trusted him to successfully guide her around the floor without incurring some sort of embarrassing disaster, feeling a silent emotional bond develop between the two of them as their lack of conversation was replaced with the now smooth movements of their bodies. This was a language which traversed the fickle barriers words inflicted on the human race, allowing for an expression of sentiment which neither Ruby nor Sherlock had the courage to vocalise.

_Money is the anthem  
God you're so handsome  
Money is the anthem  
Of success_

Lana's hypnotic voice faded into the surroundings of the marquee and as the curtain fell around her, it took their momentarily perfect atmosphere with it. Ruby felt Sherlock come to a halt and her eyes snapped open, knowing their moment was over. She felt reluctant to leave him, knowing such physical closeness was not in their near future and her mind hummed with the knowledge that not only had she enjoyed the close contact, she desired for more. Ruby kept her eyes averted as she stepped out of their embrace, not wanting to expose what must be the most dilated pupils in the entire marquee. She didn't have to make an excuse; Sherlock had already muttered one and stomped off in the opposite direction, disappearing into the strip of night at the marquee's entrance at his usual speedy pace. The loud step of an expensive shoe failed to make an impression on her senses until a tap on her shoulder roughly brought her attention back to her surroundings.

'Evening Lady Smith. The next song was one I thought would benefit from our presence on this dance floor.' Ruby stared at Charles Bloom for a long moment, feeling a seething hatred bubble around in the pit of her stomach. How could she possibly dance with such a twit after… _that_? 'Now would be good, we won't reach the centre of the floor before the next song begins.' His hand clad in a few ugly but expensive rings, dug into her shoulder-blade and he forcefully began guiding her towards the centre of the floor. Ruby regained control of her body a moment later and wrenched Charles' wretched fingers from her shoulder. 'Lady Smith, what the hell –'

'Listen closely Charles I'm-such-a-posh-twat Bloom. Shut your mouth and never touch me again.'

'And what makes you think you have such power over me?' He hissed, his face contracting with such fury it turned his skin puce.

'My left hook is stronger than my sister's; I'll make your nose irreparable. Then I'll shut your mouth by kicking your teeth down your throat and everyone in this room will know you lost a fight to a girl.' Her eyes blazed at the spoilt brat before turning on her heel and marching towards the exit of the marquee, creating quite a dramatic exit as her dressed billowed behind her like some ferociously beautiful cape.

She didn't care for the curious looks chasing after her; she had a consulting detective to find.

* * *

**Gosh I cannot believe how many bloody reviews I received in the space of 48 hours! What! You guys, seriously, what!? Why the shower of love? My poor nerves can't handle all of this appreciation. And to Samantha Drake, you cheeky devil, fine tricksy hobbits! Your surprise (Which I still have to write because when I made the offer of posting a treat if I reached 200 reviews was one I did not realise you guys would so quickly meet) should be posted no later than Friday. At least I know what the surprise is and don't have to think of one! Phew on the ideas front! Now, onto this actual chapter, which hopefully gave you a giggle and a squeal. Lana Del Rey is a beautiful poet and I had to at some point include her and with this setting... I couldn't resist. Her song "National Anthem" I felt perfectly harmonized with Ruby's cynical view of the seriously upper class members of British society. I tried to keep Sherlock in character... ah but a twist lies ahead, beware my readers, beware! Until Friday, adieu adieu. I hope I made you smile today. **


	30. Chapter 30

**200 Review Treat**

**If you enjoy this, I think when I reach 300 reviews I'll post you another treat. I'll give you a choice closer to the time of what you might like to read, maybe an excerpt from Ruby's teenage years with her sister, Ruby spending more time at the office in the company of Anderson, Lestrade and Donovan minus the presence of Sherlock and John or maybe a scene already published in a previous chapter told wholly in the first person from Sherlock's perspective etc. Let me know what you'd prefer in the reviews, I'll take the most popular options and pop them in a poll for you to vote on at your leisure.**

**So this treat takes place during the six month gap between case one and case two.**

**This is a flash back, not to be read as a continuation of the previous chapter.**

* * *

"Oi, freak!" Donovan hollered at the disappearing figure of Sherlock Holmes.

'Not now sergeant, my mind palace is demanding my full attention.' He threw the remark over his shoulder where it landed at Sally's pursuing feet, trying to catch Sherlock before he left homicide. Her hair bounced frustratingly as she chased after the consulting-detective, attracting the gazes of the surrounding police officers who all secretly loved it when she had a go at the man who made it his mission to make them feel moronically incompetent.

'I don't care, you need to stop this nonsense with the press; you're making us look like idiots.' She yelled harshly, forcing the detective to turn around at the word "idiots".

'Ah Sally, I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, my mere existence conveys the uncomfortable truth regarding the sheer magnitude of the police's stupidity.'

'The texting. Stop it. _Now_.'

'I'm afraid I haven't the faintest notion what you're talking about.' Sherlock murmured while pulling his gloves on, a smirk tugging at his lips.

'You know exactly what I'm going on about. The papers keep publishing how some outside influence is acting like a lie-detector with everfing we say in our press-conferences. The public are losing faith in us for no good reason.'

'Bit of a stretch to say "no good reason", wouldn't you agree Sally?'

'That's sergeant to you, _freak_.' Sherlock's lips pulled upwards in an emotionless smile before he stepped forwards, his eyes boring over Sally's well-dressed figure.

'Have fun on your date tonight. But a word of advice, I'd avoid ordering the lobster if you want him to keep up the façade of this romantic attachment so he'll foot the bill. Anything over £15 for the main will almost certainly result in the splitting of the bill as happened to you last Friday.'

'I'm not going on a date, what are you going –'

'There's the glaring fact that this man is from work as you're going with him straight after your shift finishes meaning you have no time to return home and freshen up. Increased height in your shoes, the tightness in your one good skirt to show off what you think is a pleasing rear though the ladder in your tights certainly detracts from any admiration you hope to garner. Same goes for your blouse which you appear to have forgotten to do up the third button, which coincidently just happens to show off your below-average chest though the view is degraded by a splash of your second morning coffee. You're wearing your "good" jewellery, just had it cleaned too so you're planning on asking an important question tonight such as "where do you think this relationship is going?" or something of that dull nature. Oh, but why is it dull Sherlock? Maybe because we both know the answer to that question; the relationship is going nowhere which is hardly surprising seeing as having an affair with Anderson isn't exactly the foundation of a steady relationship.' He flashed her a more genuine smile as Sally floundered for a moment, trying to construct some last minute defences.

'Good day, _sergeant_.' Sherlock drawled before turning on his heel and stalking out of the office, heading towards the elevator. As he left the disgruntled sergeant in his wake, he met a certain red-haired detective waiting for the lift.

'Ruby.' He acknowledged in a voice which compared with his cold deduction of Sally Donovan, sounded almost loving.

'Morning brainiac. Pissing off my co-workers again?'

'Only describing.' He said curtly while stepping into the open elevator, Ruby traipsing in after him. 'Figure out who the murderer is yet?'

'Donovan is set on it being the daughter as her mother was about to make a new will, leaving her with nothing.'

'But…?'

'You've met the daughter, her and her mum were practically best friends up until their little domestic. Also the daughter doesn't need the money. The victim's brother on the other hand…'

'Ah good, you're keeping up for a change.'

'I've no proof.'

'Just as well you have me then.'

'What do you have for me?'

'Wrong question. What, do you have for _me_?' Ruby fumbled in the inside pocket of her suit jacket and pulled out her cigar case holding her treasure cigarette. Her braces hidden beneath the suit jacket sported skull and cross bones today. 'Ah good. You remembered.' He whipped out his phone and tapped furiously against its screen. 'Here we are; unquestionable proof that it was the victim's brother who did it, not the daughter.' Sherlock rotated the phone so Ruby could see.

'A pair of green wellies…?'

'Don't you see?'

'No.' Ruby said flatly.

'Really?'

'Sherlock, you're brilliance won't stop me from whacking you over the head from irritation.'

'I'd like to see you try.'

'One day, I just might. Now walk me through how the green wellies are going to put the victim's brother away in court.'

A few intense minutes later, Sherlock had rattled off his explanation to why the green wellies incriminated the victim's brother, a deduction which Ruby could never have hoped to make. Ruby punched the button of the building's coffee machine a little harder than necessary to produce the caffeine infused sludge that would allow her to make it through the frankly disastrous amount of paperwork awaiting her upstairs. She poured two sugars into one of the two cups and handed it absent-mindedly to Sherlock.

'You bought me coffee.'

'No shit.'

'I didn't ask you to buy me coffee.'

'Consider it a thank you for understanding the importance of green wellies.'

'That's not why you bought it.'

'Excellent deduction.' Ruby said; taking a quick gulp of the steaming beverage and trying to ignore the stinging sensation as it burned its way down her throat.

'Why did you buy me coffee?'

'Because like John but unlike you, I'm a nice person.'

'Catching criminals isn't categorized as "being nice"?'

'It's morally right. Not nice.'

'Same difference.'

'I'm not a sociopath so I'm going to go out on a limb here and say I have the better expertise on this topic.' Sherlock decided it would be wiser to take a gulp of coffee as his least favourite forensic "scientist" stalked past the pair of them and slouched into the elevator.

'Tedious.' Sherlock said as soon as the elevator doors closed.

'What is?'

'Anderson and Donovan, obviously going to end in disaster.'

'I know, Donovan's so obviously out of his league.'

'What? No not that! When they break up they'll be an even bigger distraction than their unbearable selves at the crime scene. If I have to put up with them sending anger infused glares across a corpse, I won't be responsible for making them join the stiffy in oblivion.' He drained his cup and abruptly smashed it into the litter bin.

'You need to back off Sherlock.'

'_Sorry_?'

'Not just with Donovan and Anderson, let them make their own mistakes. With the texting at the press conferences.'

'How do you know it was me?' He asked with feigned innocence.

'What other bell-end is helping the police who so happens to be brilliant enough to text all the members of the current journalists at said conference with an untraceable number?' Sherlock's eyes twinkled mysteriously as he deigned not to contradict this statement. Ruby was slowly learning that employing flattery in a precise way would make Sherlock more agreeable and malleable than a Sherlock who had just been insulted. And who could say Sherlock Holmes wasn't a brilliant man? No-one but the most ignorant of folk.

'Bell-end?' He asked while raising an eyebrow.

'I'll let your non-existent imagination figure it out.'

'I have an imagination, unlike my fellow humans I manage to keep mine firmly in check and under control. Like other primitive urges.' His hand snapped forwards and snatched Ruby's mobile from her pocket.

'OI! Give that back!' Ruby demanded, trying to reach the hand which held the mobile out of her reach.

'There. Done.' Sherlock said while victoriously handing Ruby back her phone.

'What did you do…?' Ruby asked breathlessly, flicking to her sent messages and opening the latest one. It was a number she didn't recognise with the message:

_You're the best._

'Who did you send that to?' Ruby demanded, her eyes glaring up at Sherlock. He rolled his eyes while flashing his own phone in Ruby's face, her phone number flashing on his screen.

'Don't be surprised by any late evening texts.' And before Ruby could argue, Sherlock stalked out of the station, his coat billowing behind him in the early January breeze, the lowering sun casting shadows over his high cheekbones. She hurriedly opened a new message and typed out another text to send to the detective.

_Reid's carpet store just called, they said they want your coat back. _

Ruby bit on her lower lip for a moment, a thrill of fear chasing down her spine as she sent the text. Less than thirty second later, her phone beeped with a response.

_I'm ashamed to have been on the receiving end of such a poorly constructed insult. This "nice" lark doesn't appear to be of much use to anyone. Now, you can either sit around thinking of more meagre insults or you can get a search warrant for the victim's brother's house where the weapon will be concealed behind a panel in his kitchen judging by the way his jeans were worn. SH_

_Meet us there?_

_Yes, who else will find the secret panel? Anderson? SH_

_You said it was in the kitchen, I'm sure we'd manage. _

_WRONG! SH_

* * *

**This is just a little something to thank you for the frankly ridiculous support over the past few months. I thought it was strange looking back over this story that though there was a detailed text conversation roughly ten chapters ago; there was no origin of this texting in the first case. This is how Sherlock and Ruby exchanged numbers. **


	31. Chapter 31

**Inside His Mind**

Twenty minutes later, an angry Ruby mounted the spiral stairs to her room after failing to locate the consulting detective who had a knack for disappearing into thin air. Her initial desire to find Sherlock and talk with him about their little dance was now clouded by the smouldering rage blossoming around her head, threatening to break over the next person who dared to provoke her. Her high heels were long since abandoned, dangling from her right hand as her bare feet bit into the plush carpets covering the ancient wooden floors while the hem of her red dress was collected in her left hand to keep her from tripping and falling spectacularly on her face where undoubtedly her wig would fly off and hit some rich idiot square on the nose.

The door to her room swung open, granting access to a temporary sanctuary of movie posters, a lock on the door and old memories. Great satisfaction was derived from chucking the expensive heels into a far-flung corner and it was with an unhealthy amount of glee that Ruby bounced into the bathroom to relieve herself of her disguise. She slipped out of the red number and hung it on the back of the door, preferring to don a comfortable black nightie reaching her knees instead. Her heavily made-up face blankly returned her tired stare as her fingers coaxed the wig from her head, allowing the dyed red locks to cascade from their temporary prison, their liberation aided by Ruby's hands ruffling her roots. The make-up was quickly eradicated by a half-dozen baby wipes and after declaring war on her teeth with a tooth brush, she flicked off the bathroom lights and returned to her room. Only a small light from the wardrobe on the other side of the room was on and she quickly hurried towards the bed where she quickly turned on her bedside lamp.

'AAAARGH!' Ruby roared while jumping a foot in the air when she realised someone was sprawled on her bed.

'Quiet Ruby, I'm thinking.' Sherlock drawled, lying on his back, his nose buried in a book.

'_How _did you get in here? I locked the door!' Ruby blustered, some of her anger replacing her initial shock.

'Textbook lock-picking. This is an old house, what exactly did you expect?' He sneered while turning a page of the book.

'Oh I don't know, maybe you could've knocked but I suppose that's too _normal _for a high-functioning sociopath!'

'You're clearly upset about something, though it can't be blamed on your hormones seeing as you're not due for another week.' Ruby's mouth fell open as she stared at the man casually reading on her bed, appalled by this observation.

'You… you monitor my _periods_?' She squeaked, colour rushing to her cheeks.

'Not monitor, believe me it's hardly a task I undertake with pleasure. I simply cannot help what observations I make on the third week of every month. Pasty skin, short temper, fatigued cognitive processes, loss of body heat and a rather alarming consumption of comfort food…' Sherlock's hand flicked idly at each point. Ruby sat by his head, her legs suddenly feeling weak at this out-of-the-blue reference to something incredibly private. 'No. You're annoyed with me.'

'That's a good deduction Sherlock.' Ruby said with a firm nod.

'And what could I have possibly done to upset you?' He asked with a quirked brow.

'Oh I don't know perhaps the very fact that you – hang on.' Ruby's eyes focused on the book in Sherlock's hand and realised with a thrill of dread that it wasn't a book at all. Her hand shot forward and she relieved the detective of what had been occupying his attention, her stomach dropping when she correctly identified it. 'You see no problem with reading my diary?' She asked in a dangerously quiet voice.

'No, as the final entry was made over a decade ago.' Sherlock replied smoothly, not bothering to raise himself into a sitting position.

'Sherlock. This. Is. PRIVATE!' Ruby snapped.

'Oh would you stop being so melodramatic?'

'Why would you read this anyway? How does this help with your case?' She hissed.

'Information on your parents. I found plenty despite the numerous grammatical errors.'

'Sherlock –'

'Errors which even now I believe you've failed to address judging by the poor level of English employed in your police reports.' Ruby's fingers clamped around her diary with excessive force, she could feel the delicate spine of the book bend from the pressure as she jumped to her feet. How was it possible for this man to make her blush from embarrassment during an intense dance to provoking a rage so intense, she lost her grip on the English language? What was his _problem_?

And then an epiphany struck Ruby like a blow to the head. She genuinely stumbled from the realisation and her eyes locked on Sherlock with malicious understanding.

'What _now_?' He asked disparagingly, his eyes rolling dramatically.

'You… son of a _bitch_.' Ruby spat.

'There's no need to insult mummy.' Sherlock sighed while reluctantly sitting up.

'_Mummy_?' Ruby asked, momentarily waylaid by this ridiculous inference to Sherlock's mother. Calling the person whose womb she'd spent arguably the most arduous nine months of her life in was a pet name completely beyond her. 'You're _such_ a liar.'

'No, that is what Mycroft and I call her.'

'Not that you moron! You honestly thought you could get away with it didn't you?'

'Get away with what?' Sherlock asked lazily, his feigned innocence doing nothing to sooth Ruby's smouldering rage.

'Your lie about Mycroft's National Security crisis which you'd deviate from your current case to pursue.' Her eyes burned maddeningly into Sherlock's. 'Mycroft's only here because you told him to come.'

'And why would I willingly invite my brother anywhere?'

'To show him that you solved the case in even more spectacular style than usual. It's the sapphire around my mother's neck, her anniversary present. You believe the Mastercard will come for it during the celebrations and then you'll catch her in front of this group of snobs, cementing your title of consulting-detective forever.' She was breathing harshly; it was unusual for her to make such clinical and hasty observations. 'I'm right aren't I? You think she'll come here and steal my mother's sapphire; it will be her highest profile steal to date and will garner her approval of the public when she undoubtedly steals from the richest and gives to the poor.' She muttered, beginning to pace backwards and forward. 'So where do you think she'll shoot her arrow? At the Masquerade ball of course in two days! It's the perfect disguise for her to enter unnoticed and to keep her identity a secret…' Her pacing increased as her hands balled and unclenched at her sides. She suddenly halted and stared at the detective closely watching her. 'Is this what you feel like all the time? No wonder you're always looking for the next case, this feeling of certainty is…' She fumbled for the right words. 'It's bloody beautiful.' Was the best her brain could offer as she gave her head a slight shake, a smile pulling at her lips. 'You didn't think I'd figure it out did you?'

'On the contrary Ruby; I was counting on it.' Ruby's eyes widened comically at this statement. 'I knew you'd get there. _Eventually_.'

'Why didn't you just tell me?'

'I needed to see how good you were.'

'At what?'

'Reading my actions. You're useless to me if you cannot understand when I'm playing a bigger game than I'm letting on. If I ever need your assistance in the future, any anomalies in my character are ones which you have to be able to interpret as you have so kindly demonstrated.'

'But earlier on, you said I had a very poor grasp of your character.'

'That was a perfectly sound analysis judging by the quite frankly bizarre method you believe I employ to formulate opinions of others. Thankfully, you're not a completely hopeless case.'

'Cheers.' Ruby said with a roll of her eyes. Another much darker thought crossed her mind and she understood that Sherlock would be saving her heart a lot of trouble if she managed to correctly word the question. 'So the dancing… what exactly was that to prove?' She hesitantly asked.

'Oh _that_. Well; I was observing Mycroft's men while giving something else entirely for my older brother to worry about. The thought of my entering into a relationship containing a physical and emotional attachment of the deepest nature would trouble him. This distraction will allow me to conduct my inquiries in peace as Mycroft proceeds to garner all the information about you that he can get his powerful little fingers on.'

'Wait… garner information?'

'Oh yes. He conducts exceptionally detailed background checks on all those who find themselves in my company for more than a few months. It's an annoying habit of his.' Sherlock sprang to his feet. 'It's nothing to be worried about Ruby; I've done my own research and know you're a perfectly dysfunctional member of society whom I can get along with.'

'You've researched me?'

'Oh don't act like you haven't googled _my_ name.'

'That's… that's different.'

'_How _exactly?'

'Well. For starters, you have a website. The Science of Deduction.'

'You never told me you went on there.' Sherlock mused, his head cocking to the side. Ruby made a point of tipping her head to the side as well, trying to subconsciously inform Sherlock of this little habit of his.

'And what did you think?' He eventually blustered.

'The website? Classic you, introducing the page with an insult going along the lines of "I'm not going into detail about how I do what I do as you won't understand" which is pretty harsh.'

'Before I placed that line there, my inbox was bursting with idiots asking stupid questions about my observations. Several of these morons wanted me to post a vlog explaining in detail what I do. Could you imagine? Step-by-step deductions with Sherlock Holmes! Not much use if I do that, the criminal world will know exactly how I work and use it to their advantage in evading me.'

'Back to the Mastercard… do you have any idea who she might be?'

'Any idea…? Oh Ruby, do you really believe I haven't figured out her identity already?'

'_What_?!'

'Oh yes, she's fallen off the grid recently but I have everything I need to catch her in action in two days. At the Masquerade ball as you correctly deduced.'

'But… _how_? _When_?'

'No, no, no, NO! The correct question is WHO? And in order to answer that, we need to go to my room on the floor below us.'

'But –'

'Let's go Ruby!'

'But I'm only in my nightie!' Ruby whined.

'Oh. I hadn't noticed.' Sherlock muttered, his eyes scanning over the skimpy garment. He cast around her room for something to throw over her and his lips quirked as he approached the bed and roughly tore the sheet from the mattress. 'Here. Use this.' He said before draping the material around her shoulder like some sort of cape.

'You're not serious. I can't wear this!'

'And why not? It covers up everything in a perfectly dignified manner.'

'It's a sheet Sherlock!'

'And you're worried what the others we might pass will think?'

'Yes!'

'Ugh, dull. And shouldn't you be more concerned with your hair colour than any flashing of unnecessary skin?' He drawled.

'My HAIR!' Ruby squealed, her hands flying to her rebellious red locks. She hurried to the bathroom with the sheet flying behind her and managed to quickly stuff the blond wig onto her head.

'Must you wear that?'

'Yes.' Ruby said through gritted teeth, casting off the sheet where it lay abandoned at the foot of her bed. 'Shall we?' She asked with blazing eyes, striding towards the door in her bare feet.

'Wait.' Sherlock grabbed her naked shoulder and brought her to a halt. His nimble fingers tucked some stray strands beneath the wig, his fingertips accidently brushing against Ruby's neck, eliciting a ripple of goosebumps to rise in their wake. Ruby shivered for a moment and heard Sherlock heave a great sigh.

'Well fine, if you're _that_ cold.' He grumbled. Ruby heard a rustle of material before a heavy weight dropped onto her shoulders. She glanced down to see the Irish tweed of a familiar Belstaff coat covering her shoulders, one which she'd only ever seen a certain dark-haired detective wear. It was just a coat, most would say. Ah, but name another two that held as much character as this coat. Ruby could only think of one and it featured in her top five movies; Drive, where the protagonist wore a fantastic driving jacket with a yellow scorpion emblazoned onto the back of the cream-quilted fabric.

'Thank you.'

'A very temporary loan.' He instructed coldly as she gingerly touched the collar in an almost awe-struck manner. 'Shall we?' He gestured towards the door and the two traipsed out, Ruby wrapping the coat tightly around her body. Their footsteps were muffled by the carpet and in a matter of minutes they were inside of Sherlock's room. She then fumbled for a light switch and as she flicked them on, she was once again startled by what had been hiding in the darkness. Instead of a nonchalant Sherlock lounging on the bed, line upon line of red thread was criss-crossed throughout the entire room, intersecting at certain points with masses of information dangling at irregular intervals. All lines converged at a certain point at the centre of the room, a point which Ruby found herself drawn to.

'So I take it this isn't just John's previous relationships?' She wondered aloud as her footsteps slowed.

'No.'

'Sabrina Milton. Who the hell is that?' She asked, observing the picture attached to the name.

'Oh you wouldn't know her. But her sister on the other hand is a lady called Chloe Milton, a politician whose campaign is grossly funded by the contributions donated by your parents and their rich friends over this three day celebration. Chloe went to school with John and after much arduous research, not only was I able to confirm that they dated for a disastrous four months, but poor little Sabrina here had a hopeless crush on her sister's boyfriend, one which never materialised into a relationship. Sabrina took archery lessons, explaining her love of Robin Hood and her need to loose arrows at every triumphant steal. However, this 3 day celebration is her downfall as she is allowing her emotions to get in the way; this is about drawing the popularity and love which is being thrown towards her sister onto _her_ during the spectacular grab and dash in front of hundreds of spectators. She's never had an audience before and she's both looking forward to and dreading the coming ball. Dear Sabrina has always taken issue with the distribution of wealth throughout the world if her cover letters on her college applications are anything to go by. Obviously this passion hasn't died over time. So now we have motive: sibling rivalry. She wants to take back everything her sister has succeeded in. The popularity, the power, the riches and the man.' As he ranted, Sherlock walked about the room, touching various points of his intersecting time lines to provide evidence to support his points. Ruby was truly astonished. Chloe Milton's little sister… how Sherlock had managed to narrow in with such clinical precision on this one woman out of all the surrounding members of the cut outs he'd stuck up in 221b remained a complete and utter mystery to her.

'Bloody brilliant.' She whispered, shaking her head incredulously at the lines of red thread dangling above her. 'I just see one tiny problem with the Mastercard's apprehension.'

'Nothing I haven't thought of, I'm sure.'

'Carson will kill you for sticking pins into the vintage wallpaper.' Ruby murmured while nodding to the thumb tacks sticking into the surrounding walls, pinning the timelines in place.

'Perhaps I should take this construction of a tiny portion of my mind palace down before the morning?'

'I think that would be wise.' She glanced at Sherlock uncertainly. 'A tiny portion?'

'Hmm? Yes. Very small chunk, barely the cupboard under the stairs.' His gaze landed on Ruby where his eyes proceeded to vibrate along her body. 'Problem?'

'Just when I think I've become used to your crazy intellectual capacity… you proceed to viciously slap such notions from my head with _this_.' She mused while waving her hand at the display above her.

'An ordinary person couldn't help but be impressed.' Ruby's head drooped slightly at the term "ordinary" which Sherlock managed to utilise with an almost racist air.

'I guess so.' Ruby muttered. She stepped out of the Belstaff coat and offered it to Sherlock.

'Take it on your return journey to your room. I'll pick it up in the early morning.'

'Have something planned?'

'I am me, so you should know the answer to that question.'

'Need my help?'

'Yes. I have reasons to observe the grounds tomorrow.'

'I can think of the perfect reason to cover this dubious quest.'

'Ruby, this romanticising of my work _has_ to stop.' Ruby took a step forward so she was properly facing the eccentric genius.

'Apologies, it's the flaw of an _ordinary _person. I'm afraid you'll just have to put up with them.' Ruby quipped, stretching up onto her tip-toes and kissing Sherlock for a long moment on his left cheek.

'What was that for?' Sherlock asked so quickly, his words slurred slightly together.

'Oh, just a thank you.' Ruby murmured, her voice taking on a sultry air Lana Del Rey would be proud of.

'For what?'

'Making this weekend barely tolerable.'

'_Barely_?' He asked, completely outraged.

'You're good Sherlock, but even you have your limitations when you belong to a flawed species.' She smiled for a moment, her eyes closing in evident amusement. 'Good night Sherlock.' Ruby turned and exited out of his chamber, his Belstaff's coat whispering behind her.

* * *

**That is only day one of this three day celebration! What could possibly happen over the next two days? Only patience and late night writing can tell. Oh this is so fun, but you guys really have no idea what's coming. I have literally forty hand-written pages of notes for this story in terms of where this plot is headed (yes I am that invested in this story). Listening to the Pacific Rim soundtrack as I write this, I feel as if Kaiju and Jagers are fighting right outside of my window and I give them a slight salute for not smashing my house. So nice of them. **

**Seeing as I'm fast approaching 100 favourites, I was thinking of providing a special treat once again for you lovely lot. Polls are far too arduous so leave a review stating which of the following options you would like to see as your treat:**

**A brand new scene taking place in the office with Anderson and Donovan talking to Ruby and the topic of discussion is Sherlock Holmes. **

**OR**

**A re-telling of the "Teaching Sherlock How to Kiss" scene told entirely in the first person from Sherlock's perspective. **

**OR**

**A brand new scene taking place in 221b between John and Sherlock after the conclusion of "Case One: The Thumb Thief" where the topic of discussion is Ruby Smith. **

**Choose wisely friends!**


	32. Chapter 32

**Scouting For Trouble**

'UP! NOW!' A voice loudly ordered, startling Ruby from a pleasant dream involving floating trains made of silk.

'Whashappened?' Ruby slurred, jerking roughly into a sitting position.

'C'mon Ruby, time to go!' The voice continued to goad, looming over her bed with only a sliver of light peeping in through the massive window behind them.

'Sherlock?' Ruby muttered, squinting in the dim light.

'No, it's a masked murder who prefers to wake his victims from their slumber before violently beheading them!'

'Time s'it?

'Just gone 4.'

'In the _morning_?'

'Obviously it isn't four in the afternoon.'

'Sod off Sherlock.' Ruby grumbled before burying her head beneath the luxurious double quilt.

'Where's my coat?'

'Burned it.' She mumbled, her eyes tightly squeezed shut, wishing the detective would go away but knowing he wouldn't.

'You did not burn my coat Ruby Smith. Tell me where it is or I promise to call you Meredith in front of everyone at the office back in London.'

Ruby heaved a great sigh before turning over and pointing at the back of the door. 'It's hanging there.' She said before sinking drowsily amongst the pillows. A swift tug of material announced the return of Sherlock's signature coat. She turned around just in time to watch him pop his coat collar.

'What?' He snapped.

'Well, ironically enough, you will need your hat today.'

'My what?'

'The deerstalker. You know; the "Sherlock Holmes" hat?' She teased.

'That was an unfortunate press shot which has haunted my footsteps ever since.'

'I think it suits you.'

'You obviously haven't seen the photo.'

'You mean this one?' Ruby asked, unlocking her phone with clumsy fingers before finding the image Sherlock loathed so much. 'It does have a sort of quirky charm –'

'_Do_ shut up.' Sherlock groaned, swiping the phone and angrily turning it off. 'If you get up now, I'll give you breakfast.'

'What?' Ruby asked; her brows furrowed over this suspicious offer.

'I am willing to offer you something I earlier lifted from the kitchens.' Sherlock shook what appeared to be a tantalizing pastry in front of Ruby's face. The pungent smell was enough to draw her head from beneath the covers. 'You know that I am not an early riser so when I say that we need to go _right this instant _I mean it. You're also aware that any resistance is of course futile as one way or another, I will have you out of that bed.'

'It's so weird.' Ruby shook her head for a moment.

'What is?'

'You'd do anything to get me out of this bed while usually in this scenario; the man would be trying his level best to _keep _me there.' She winked lazily at Sherlock, an expression which was not well received.

'Ruby –'

'Shut your pie-hole, I'm getting up.' It was a sign of their strengthening friendship that Ruby pushed the warm covers from her body and hopped out of the bed at such a ridiculous hour. 'Gimme.' She demanded, a hand relieving Sherlock of the pastry, the sound of it being destroyed accompanying Ruby's eager bites. A few minutes later, her hair was lazily thrown into a ponytail and her nightie had been replaced with a comfortable black fleece and a pair of breeches.

'Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realise we were hunting for foxes in the ill-fitting fashion of the fifties.' Sherlock sneered, his eyes scanning over the garment in question.

'Stop it, you fucktard.' Ruby's eyebrows were in danger of disappearing into her hairline; she was completely taken surprise by the sheer violence of her comeback. Sherlock's chin lifted disparagingly as his eyes coldly observed the red-haired detective.

'I _beg_ your pardon?' His voice was uncharacteristically quiet.

'Like most "regular folk", I'm crabbit when woken at four in the morning by a demanding consulting-detective who scorns at my choice in clothes!'

'Breeches –'

'They're comfortable!'

'For what? Carrying a litter?'

'Sherlock, I'm not pregnant!'

'Obviously. It's only nerves from your family reunion which caused you to over-eat, resulting in the production of two and a half pounds of excess weight. There's also the minor detail that to produce offspring, you need to copulate with a male which let's face it, hasn't exactly been an activity you've indulged in since your sting operation ended eight months ago. '

Many expressions pulled at Ruby's facial muscles as this harsh analysis sunk in. Yet the annoying thing was that despite the emotionally-stunted delivery, the deduction remained perfectly sound.

_Damn him. Damn him and his clinical observations to hell!_

'Are you saying I'm sexually starved?' Ruby asked slowly.

'Is the Pope a Catholic?'

'You actually are…' Ruby shook her head, trying and failing to dispel some of her disbelief. 'What concern is it of yours?'

'What?'

'My sex life. Whether I get any or not; why has it attracted your attention?'

'It has _not_–'

'For a man who believes the primary colours to be an irrelevant fact to store in his "Mind Palace", you have definitely taken notice.'

'Fine. The lack of copulation is the only consistent factor regarding your deteriorating moods.'

'Deteriorating moods?' Ruby's brain was still half asleep so conducting such ludicrous conversations was something she wasn't able to prolong. There were only two solutions to these spats: either Sherlock won or Ruby utilised shock tactics to quickly force him out of the room.

'Yes deteriorating moods, shortness of temper, irritability, loss of self-esteem and a frankly alarming sense of dress.' He said in a bored manner, his eyes flicking disdainfully to her breeches. Ruby squared her shoulders and walked towards Sherlock, her hands reaching up to fix his collar which had half-heartedly tried to return to its original un-popped position.

'And what do you plan to do about that, Sherlock?' Ruby asked calmly, aloofly maintaining eye contact with the guarded detective as her hands slid from the collar to his surprisingly sturdy shoulders.

'I don't follow.'

'Playing dumb really doesn't suit you. I mean, I know we're friends and all, but suggesting that we become friends with _benefits _really isn't something which serves either of our interests, wouldn't you agree?' She lightly squeezed his shoulders in a reassuring manner before dropping her hands altogether.

'I think lack of sleep has led you to a seriously flawed conclusion.'

'No, your rude awakening isn't responsible. Your discussion of my sex life without prompting on the other hand…'

'I was merely trying to make a point, _not _a suggestion.'

'Could have fooled me. In future, I believe it's best to avoid this area of conversation altogether seeing as my experience severely outweighs yours.'

'Experience is immaterial to my work –'

'Then why did you ask me to teach you how to kiss someone?' Ruby hissed; her nostrils flaring as she finally spilled forth the agonising question which had been picking her brain since that curious evening in 221B. The silence which followed rattled Ruby to her core. She was used to the lengthy lectures Sherlock would orate, insulting her looks, observational skills and most importantly – her intelligence. No, replacing the mouthy detective who usually had a comeback for any remark was a mute man with furrowed eyebrows, his eyes scanning her like some sort of human barcode. And he didn't make an appearance for a fraction of a second either. This phantom who swallowed nervously, whose gaze flicked not once but _twice _to her lips remained motionless for a solid minute, the seconds grating past at a glacial speed.

Eventually Ruby held up her hands and took a step back from Sherlock Holmes, not wanting to make some stupid mistake her fully-awakened self would forever berate her for. She reigned in her speculations regarding _that _particular evening, disregarded contemplations of Sherlock's hand on the small of her back and returned her muddled attentions to the current case. 'You need to observe the grounds, where exactly do you need to go?'

Sherlock blinked rapidly, seeming to return from some fruitless trance as his gaze regained its usual laser-like focus.

'North-East corner of the forest.'

'Why there?'

'To set up surveillance. That's where our darling Mastercard will enter.'

'_How _can you possibly…. Never mind. Explain later when I've woken up.' Ruby muttered before pulling on some boots and resisting the urge to shake her head in disbelief. The two quietly left her room and slowly began the descent to the spectacular ground floor where after procuring a key for an old cubby-hole of Carson's, Ruby managed to unlock a small door beside the grand entrance, allowing for their quiet escape from the old house. Ruby felt her shoulders relax, her feet biting into the crunchy gravel as she set a course which Sherlock suddenly realised was not North-East but South-West.

'Wrong direction Ruby.' Sherlock muttered, placing a hand on her shoulder and roughly turning her in the right direction.

'No, I'm going the right way.' She argued, unhanding Sherlock's grasp and setting off on her original route.

'I suppose you've failed to take into consideration the orientation of the rest of the world outside of your own lopsided compass which seems to have nestled inside your head?' Sherlock snapped as he reluctantly followed her.

'I think I know my way around my own estate.' Ruby ignored Sherlock's snort of derision and glanced at the sky which the trees of the surrounding forest cast deep, pointed shadows against. The dawn had broken less than an hour earlier though the sunrise wouldn't appear for at least another thirty minutes. The delicate blue painting the sky was completely barren, not a cloud in sight which made for good visibility of the early hour, a perk which would come in handy during their little quest. Ahead lay a set of stables which Ruby strode towards, deftly unlocking the large door and quietly entering the silent depths of a place housing slumbering horses.

'I didn't realise we were taking a trip of an equestrian nature.' Sherlock scoffed.

'Good deduction.' Ruby chuckled as she threw a helmet in Sherlock's direction, one which he automatically caught.

'If I'd realised that lack of sleep results in the complete shutdown of your cognitive processes, I would have left you in bed and sorted this out on my own.' Sherlock snarled upon understanding the seriousness which this mad little woman held regarding this preposterous plan.

'I'll break it down for you. The North East-corner is here.' She said while pointing a riding crop at a map pinned on a wall supporting at least fifty saddles. 'And as you can see, it's completely surrounded by forest. There are no roads in this part of the forest and it would take an experienced walker a full day to come and go without placing surveillance. I have to be back for dinner at six pm.'

'You expect me to ride a _horse_?!' Sherlock was beyond outraged.

'Hush! You'll startle them…' Ruby's head cocked to the side as she listened to the quiet sounds of the horses continuing to slumber. 'No Sherlock, I expect you to take full advantage of a solution which your friend has proffered at the expense of her night's sleep. Also, this will disturb the poor horses sleeping cycle and will affect them for the next few nights too!'

'Oh well in that case, best to let sleeping horses lie.'

'Don't make up some cock-and-bull excuse, I know you can ride.'

'How could you possibly know – '

'John's blog. Your seventh case together.'

'Remind me to have a little chat with my dearest friend about his annoying blogging habit when we go home.' Sherlock huffed before striding towards a saddle and lifting it from its place on the wall.

'What are you doing?'

'You're obviously going to pair me up with Hercules over there. A strong horse who needs firm direction but you know my ruthless alpha-male character better than most so you believe I'll be more than able to handle him. But oh Sherlock, how on earth did you know which saddle belonged to Hercules? Well, that might just be because he's the only 17.4 hands horse in this entire stable which I overheard the most dreadfully boring person expostulate on the dance floor last night so obviously this saddle belongs to him as it's the largest of the bunch. Now, would you mind waking him up for me so I don't have to carry this saddle around like a new accessory?'

Ruby pursed her lips to disguise the amazed grin teasing her mouth, opting to walk over to the stable and wake Hercules from a deep slumber instead. The glossy brown coat shimmered slightly with the deep breaths of the fine horse, his ears twitching in a world of dreams only horses and mares were privy to. Ruby gently coaxed him to stand and after being slightly spooked by the unusual interruption, Hercules poked his head from his stable and observed his new rider with intelligent, liquid-brown eyes. Ruby continued to run soothing finger over the horse's neck, muttering sweet-nothings to the horse whom she'd last seen as a young colt some five years previously. She was slightly surprised when Sherlock approached Hercules fearlessly and tenderly began stroking his face, producing an apple from seemingly nowhere for the horse to munch on. 'Good boy.' Sherlock muttered, continuing to lightly stroke the bridge of Hercules' nose. Ruby slipped out of the stable, her hands stretched to relieve Sherlock of the cumbersome saddle. 'Don't be absurd Ruby; I'm more than capable of saddling my own horse.' Sherlock said pompously, entering the stable and proceeding to lay the saddle along Hercules' back.

'Alright, alright. I'll leave you two to it, shall I?' Ruby muttered, handing Sherlock a bridle before going to wake her own horse up.

Roughly twenty minutes later, the two were leading their dewy eyed horses out of the stables, fully saddled and ready for adventure. Ruby mounted her horse; Mad Max, a deliberate misnom which described a perfectly placid and obedient horse of 16 hands with a jet black coat. His thick mane ran freely down his powerful neck, free of the braids which knotted Hercules' blond hair, a mane which quickly received an affectionate pet as Ruby settled into her saddle. She glanced at Sherlock who mounted Hercules with surprising elegance, gently stroking the stallion's neck before firmly taking the reins.

'What?' Sherlock asked self-consciously when he noticed Ruby staring at him, her mouth slightly agape.

'I knew it.' She whispered.

'Knew what, exactly? That I'm the most talented and driven person you've ever met? A perfectly sound analysis I might add.'

'No, not that… It's _so_ obvious!'

'Oh, you're going to dazzle me with some sort of observation. Adorable. Do go on.'

'You're a time traveller.'

'Not quite as sound an observation as the one I proffered. Then again I suppose it's only to be expected regarding your deteriorating moods which I mentioned earlier.'

'You have to come from "la fin de siècle" seeing as you're pure Victorian.' This description was peculiarly enhanced by how at home Sherlock looked on Hercules with his great Belstaff coat swathing the flanks of the glossy stallion. The sunrise, surrounding forest and century's old mansion added curious elements to support the claim that Sherlock Holmes was indeed a man from the late 1800s. Not to mention his almost noble use of the English language, so precise was his employment of syntax and grammar, coupled with an astonishingly rich vocabulary.

'I'm trying to place when it was you received your concussion, it's the only explanation for these ridiculous comments. Now, seeing as the sun is here to greet a new day, wouldn't you agree it's about time we headed off on our little hack in order to be back for tea?'

'You're not wearing a helmet.' Ruby said with a frown.

'Pfft. Helmets aren't really my area. Besides, you're not wearing one.'

'I've been riding since I could walk.'

'And isn't it amazing that such experience will protect you from brain damage if you're thrown from your horse?' Sherlock dug his heels into his horse's flank. 'North-East is this way, I assure you.' He called over his shoulder as Hercules settled into a steady walk, leaving Ruby no choice but to push Mad Max into a gentle trot to catch up with a sensationally brilliant but equally annoying dark-haired detective.

* * *

**Heeeeeeeelo there. The return of the prodigal writer? Hah, maybe that's a little extreme. But yes, I've had two weeks of no chapters, no updates and no sign of that treat I promised at 100 favourites (which will be Sherlock's perspective of when Ruby teaches him how to kiss which won in a landslide during the vote). No I have not had writer's block, I've just been having a life. I know, shock horror, me not writing at least five thousand words a week for this fanfiction. I accomplished two main things since I last posted: I saw Eminem live (so savage, been waiting almost a decade for that one) and I'm also a qualified diver (not a typo, literally swimmin' with the fishes.) Plus I've been working extra shifts so that is how life just decides to get in the way. I'm sorry, I know you get impatient but please understand that these chapters take a lot of my time to write not to mention they're the source of many arguments in my house. Slight overshare there but I feel it's important for you guys to know exactly why my postings can be so consistent, at least two a week, then nothing for two solid weeks. **

**As always, I am blown away by the support, especially as this story has nothing to do with the Sherlolly or Johnlock pairings which are so darn popular on this site. No, you've invested in my original character and you've trusted me to do justice to the interactions which Ruby Smith has in this fantastic universe whose plot I have completely scooped out and replaced with my own. The fact that you not only appreciate the cannon characters and references but the characters and plot of my own creation make me grin like a mad yolk and support that dream knocking around in the back of my skull that I might one day make it in the turbulent world of the modern writer. And maybe pen an episode of BBC Sherlock if it continues to run (AS IT SHOULD) for many more wonderful seasons.**

**Hopefully I should have another chapter written and posted for tomorrow to sate your Sherlock cravings. Also, Sherlock riding a horse, something I've wanted to see for a long time. That Belstaff coat, those cheekbones, a horse... it provides a very pleasing image in my mind's eye, I hope it does that for you too. **

**Alright, rant over. **

**funkyrandomer out!**


	33. Chapter 33

**The Misty Forest**

The un-shoed hooves of two horses bit hungrily into the soft clay of a small forest path. There was just enough room for both Sherlock and Ruby to ride beside one another, ducking their heads from time to time when a cheeky branch threatened to knock them from their saddles. Bordering both sides of their path were rows upon rows of tightly packed trees, creating a comfortably close atmosphere which gave the feeling of complete isolation from society. A few perky birds were calling to one another from the highest of branches, signalling the beginning of yet another new day and announcing the arrival of some unusual visitors in this usually deserted part of the forest. Ruby smiled as the crisp air moved through her lungs, remembering how she used to ride almost every morning to escape the claustrophobic confines of the large house and small world she was born into.

The forest was unchanged in her absence, its focus remaining on the production of new leaves and the eventual shedding of them, a cycle which would remain undisturbed for decades. She wondered idly how her life had transformed since last taking a leisurely ride beneath this leafy canopy. She'd worked as a high-end stripper; nearly had her head chopped off by a mad meth-king and willingly dated a criminal. That and she'd been promoted to the rank of detective which had itself brought its own challenges. A glance at her riding companion provided the epiphany that her life was not constrained by old complications. Indeed, Ruby was free to pursue any idiotic path of her choosing and enjoy all of the consequences which were thrown her way.

'Are you ever going to tell me?' Ruby blustered, breaking a silence which had stretched for fifteen minutes now.

'Tell you what?' Sherlock asked in a bored voice.

'Oh I don't know; maybe how you figured out the Mastercard would enter the estate in this direction?'

'You really don't see, do you?'

'Would I be asking the question if I did?' Ruby snapped.

'The map of your estate, I presume you're familiar with it by now. The main gate is heavily guarded round the clock, she could break through there but no, she will do no such thing. She needs to enter undetected without making a fuss so she can bide her time for when to make her move. Understand Ruby, that if she draws attention to herself before making her big steal, her plan to surprise all of the party guests will be in ruins. The rest of the perimeter is guarded by walls as I'm sure you've realised along with CCTV. However, as I discovered last night when you were lazily sleeping, there is a blind spot on the North-East corner of the wall and it is there that the Mastercard will slip through undetected. Or so she'll believe.'

'So you're going to set up surveillance and upon her entering the grounds, you'll stop her before she gets to the party?'

'What? Don't be absurd. Without her shooting the arrow and attempting to head off with your mother's necklace, we have no proof that she _is_ the Mastercard. She could pretend to be some snooty-wannabe who simply wanted to attend such a high-end party. No, we must catch her in the act. This surveillance will serve as a warning of her arrival; it will allow us to have our plan of attack and capture set in place.'

'And I presume we're going through the forest in order to avoid said CCTV cameras recording our own presence when we make these little adjustments?'

'You're in dazzling form this morning.' Sherlock's voice was coated in sickly sugar.

'And what plan of attack do you have planned exactly?'

'Patience Ruby, I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise.' He said with a quirked lip, urging Hercules into a faster walk as the trees up ahead cleared slightly. 'I don't remember this being on the map.' Sherlock mused as he halted at the edge of the forest and stared across the five acre field.

'That's because it's not on the map. Across the clearing on the other side there, that's where the trail continues.' Ruby said while pointing. The two urged their immobile horses into a fast walk, the early morning sunshine allowing Max's jet black coat to shine in a profusely vain manner.

Ruby wasn't quite sure how it happened; perhaps it was the open expanse of land ahead or just the identity of her riding companion, but she found herself urging Mad Max into a fast trot, one which she found to her deep satisfaction was quickly matched by Sherlock. Soon the trot gave way to a gentle canter, one which Ruby's hips automatically rocked with from years of experience as Mad Max continued to pick up speed. Hercules was taller than Mad Max and stronger, but this three-year old colt had speed in buckets. Glancing at Sherlock with a wicked grin threatening to cleave her face in two, Ruby dug her heels into Max's flank and coaxed him into a fast canter. She caught a fleeting glimpse of Sherlock smirking before he quickly ordered Hercules to match her pace. They were now level, the powerful limbs of their horses moving in swift elegance across the soft grass. Not a man to be beaten at any cost, Sherlock lowered himself over Hercules, straightening his knees so he was lifted from the saddle and demanded a gallop from his stallion.

'Catch you later!' He roared as Hercules bolted ahead, causing Ruby to pull gently at her reins when Mad Max tried to follow.

'Easy Max, we'll get him in a moment.' Ruby murmured while maintaining her speedy canter, Hercules racing ahead with Sherlock's Belstaff coat streaming behind him like some sort of cape. Ruby waited another tense fifteen seconds before digging her heels into Max's flank and demanding a gallop from the speedy colt. With a natural eagerness to catch up with Hercules, Max thundered after the leading pair, leaving a spray of muck in his wake. Ruby's grin intensified into one a maniac would be proud of as Max continued to eat up the distance separating her and Sherlock. Seconds later, she could reach out and touch the end of Sherlock's streaming coat; then she was even with the crouched consulting-detective. She stuck her tongue out and received an irritated scoff in response. Ruby felt the familiarity of confidence return as she placed her faith in her own instincts. She knew horses; she had lived and breathed them while growing up. Beating Sherlock Holmes in a one-on-one contest was too delicious a thought to let go of and it was with a triumphant yelp that Ruby realised Hercules was slowing down, unable to keep up with Max's blinding speed. Less than twenty seconds later, Mad Max tore into the leafy canopy, eventually slowing down to a halt and snorting victoriously. Steam rolled off the young colt's flanks and he neighed and stamped in approval of beating the older horse. Ruby gently guided Max to the side of the path where she quickly dismounted and tied his reins to a low hanging branch. After making sure the reins were secured, she sunk to the base of the tree and proceeded to chuckle with waves of mirth as Sherlock slowly approached.

'What is so amusing?' He snapped; looking ridiculously tall on Hercules from Ruby's crouched position.

'I just… heh, I mean – I finally beat you at something.' She said with a slight shake of her head.

'I wasn't under the impression we were racing.'

'That was a race Sherlock whether you like it or not. And I won.' She grinned stupidly at the ground. 'I won. You… you _lost_!'

'It's hard to lose a race I wasn't taking part in.' He snarled.

'What about you Hercules? Did you enjoy the race?' Ruby crooned, leaping to her feet and patting the stallion's nose affectionately. 'You've still got it, despite being outshined by the hot-shot I was riding.' She returned her attention to Sherlock. 'Maybe you'll remember this feeling in future when you proceed to smear your victory over those whom you've beaten.'

'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'Oh, a sore loser, Mycroft was right about that. Can't admit to it like a man, can you?' Ruby shook her head slightly. 'I suppose it's too much to expect from a man like you.'

'And what kind of man am I?' Sherlock had swiftly dismounted where he angrily invaded Ruby's personal space, towering over her. His hair had become dramatically windswept in their race and provided a very pleasing improvement on what had already been an admirable hairstyle.

'You're unquestionably brilliant but simultaneously, you're an absolute brute with no class.' Ruby privately congratulated her brain for delivering this line with such impenetrable nonchalance.

'Is that how you perceive me then, as some sort of _barbarian?_' Sherlock asked in a dangerously quiet voice.

'It's not how I perceive you Sherlock, it's just who you are. An emotionally-stunted but highly gifted man with a heart of iron.' Sherlock's nostrils flared in a manner Hercules would be proud of. 'Also, you're not very nice.' Ruby added after some thought.

'I've disappointed you.' Sherlock said with furrowed brows.

'No, no you haven't. Don't be an idiot; your IQ's too high for that.'

'Well, if I haven't disappointed you, then why this sudden urge to describe me with such bitter vocabulary?'

'Because maybe for a change, you need to be the one whose faults are brought to the surface and plainly examined instead of believing you're some higher being who doesn't need to follow any social conventions. So there. A taste of your own medicine which I might add I delivered with a tad more sensitivity than you do on your good days.' She ran a hand through her own dishevelled locks, fumbling for the hair tie hanging on for dear life near the ends of her hair. 'You lost Sherlock. I'm hardly going to text John and ask him to post it on his blog along with your childish reaction.' Ruby strode towards Mad Max, quickly unhooked him from his tree and heaved herself back onto her saddle. 'Take the analysis Sherlock. Take it like John does or like I do when you decide to have a vent at one of us.' Without saying another word, she clicked her tongue and urged Mad Max into a walk, momentarily abandoning a Sherlock whose lips were pressed in a very firm line.

A few minutes later, Sherlock moodily drew alongside Ruby, his eyes fixed ahead and clearly of the opinion that Ruby did not deserve anymore of his attention. The silence came as a small relief to Ruby who was tired of having to fight the consulting detective though it soon became a crutch for curiosity when Sherlock quickly dismounted, shrugged off his Belstaff coat and hung it on a spindly branch before hurriedly remounting.

'Sherlock?' Ruby asked in amazement as the consulting detective stood atop Hercules' saddle and hoisted himself onto the lower branches of an ancient oak tree. He proceeded to ascend the tree in an aloof manner which wouldn't look out of place on a monkey. Ruby held Hercules' reins in her hand to stop any thoughts of escape as leaves and branches rattled overhead. After squinting upwards for the guts of a minute, Ruby gave up and settled on waiting for Sherlock, hoping upon his return he'd explain his urge to go tree climbing.

'Madness.' She said to Hercules who after a moment, snickered in response.

'Hm, that explains it.' Muttered a voice below Ruby, startling her when she realised Sherlock had materialised by her side.

'What – _how _–?'

Sherlock ignored her expostulation, took the reins from Ruby's flabbergasted hands and quickly mounted Hercules who was soon coaxed into a spritely walk.

'You just climbed a tree!' Ruby spluttered as she caught up with him.

'Excellent observation.' Sherlock drawled as he continued onwards.

'_WHY_?'

'What would it interest an ordinary person what a brute with no class gets up to?' Sherlock said sulkily, his back still turned to Ruby.

'I've _offended_ you?'

'No, in order to offend me, I'd have to care about your opinion. Which I don't.'

'You're sulking, which proves you do care.' Sherlock threw her a filthy look before returning his attention ahead. 'Jesus Sherlock, we're friends. It would be disturbing if you _didn't _care what I thought about you!'

'Then I guess I'm just a disturbed, classless brute then.'

In all honesty Ruby didn't know what triggered it, perhaps it was the way Sherlock phrased the sentence, but when their gazes momentarily locked, suddenly they were seized by fits of laughter.

'Alright, I guess brute was a little bit excessive.' Ruby admitted after her chuckling had dissipated.

'A _little_?' Sherlock snorted.

'You may have an iron heart Mr Holmes, but damn and blast you have some style to compliment it.' Ruby allowed, returning Sherlock's smirk with a shameless grin.

'It appears your observations have regained some of their usual sharpness.' Sherlock mused. 'Now, we should hurry if we want to be on-time for dinner, or would you prefer to stay riding out here all night?'

'Well, it's hardly like I'm going to be bored with you around is it?'

'Indeed.' Sherlock said with a devilish glint in his eyes.

* * *

A few hours later, they finally arrived at the inner corner of the North-East enclosure. The sun had long retreated behind a blanket of clouds and seemed reluctant to make an appearance in the near future. As the two dismounted from their horses, the first few drops of rain began to fall, one hitting Ruby squarely on the nose.

'We need to do this quickly, follow my instructions exactly.' Sherlock ordered as he once again mounted a nearby tree, his coat remaining at the bottom.

'And they are?'

'Stay here and don't do anything stupid.' Ruby frowned at this instant dismissal.

'Are you ever going to tell me what you do up there?' Ruby yelled over the rising wind.

'Isn't it obvious? I'm conversing with the tree nymphs!' Sherlock said with a sly grin, his head peering through a dense cluster of leaves.

'Give them my regards?'

'Oh I don't think that would be wise seeing as they don't like you.' Sherlock's head disappeared and a soft scrabbling sound could be discerned as Sherlock continued to make his way up the tree. Ruby held onto Hercules' reins once again and tried to ignore the steadying increase of rain which was soaking greedily into her fleece and breeches.

'HURRY UP SHERLOCK!' She roared after a further two minutes passed by, the clouds on the verge of exploding in a downpour. Sheltering beneath a tree would only provide temporary relief, the leaves would soon overload with moisture and cascade torrents of water onto them and their horses.

'No need to yell.' Sherlock muttered from behind her. He'd taken off his suit jacket before donning his famous coat. Ruby noticed that the blazer was absolutely soaked as he draped it over his horse's saddle.

'Get everything done?'

'Obviously.'

'Then let's go; there's a place not far from here where we can shelter.'

'A shame that hunting lodge is on the other side of the forest.' Sherlock remarked as he took Hercules' reins but deigned not to mount him. 'How far?'

'Half a mile, this direction.' Ruby said while pointing to her right, completely off the beaten track and into the heart of tangled forest. 'I don't think we should ride the horses –'

'I understand, we'll lead them.' Ruby nodded before leading Max off the path and into the rows of trees.

'You sure you know where you're going?' Sherlock asked.

'I got us this far, didn't I?' Ruby snapped; the overhead canopy was shielding them from the brunt of the downpour though that was only a temporary solution. 'What were you doing anyway? You were running around four separate tree trunks before climbing that one beech tree.'

'I'll tell you when we find shelter.' Sherlock muttered through gritted teeth.

They trudged along in silence; the wind whistling eerily among the trees, contributing to the mal-observation that dusk was approaching when in reality it was a little after lunch. Raindrops were soon peppering them in a dewy coating, attaching themselves to Sherlock's coat in their millions. Ruby's hair dripped into her eyes and she impatiently shoved it away from her face, concentrating on her squelching footsteps which entered and exited the mud with an impressive sucking sound. After half an hour of walking in moody silence with the rain showing no signs of letting-up, Ruby's heart soared when she noticed the shelter up ahead.

'There Sherlock! We're here!' She cried excitedly, her pace increasing as she tugged a now very tired Max into a quick walk. The shelter was a bit more than Sherlock had expected. Instead of some sort of cave, an old guard-house, completely in ruins, now lay before them. It had once been two stories high but the roof and second floor had been long gone. Beside it however was a stable with its stone roof still intact and door hanging open, begging them to come inside. The two led their horses into the stable and with numbed fingers, clumsily relieved them of their saddles. They were soon tied up at suitable anchor-points and Ruby hurriedly explored what used to be something of a secret hideout of hers. After poking around, she let out a cry of happiness as an old cupboard opened revealing bone dry sticks of turf which had been patiently waiting for another of Ruby's winter visits. Beside the turf was a matchbox with a few dry matches and Ruby congratulated her younger self for leaving such vital supplies to create a fire behind on her last visit.

After a tense few minutes, Ruby finally coaxed a fire into life in the tiny fireplace where stable boys of old used to cook their dinners when looking after the horses. The chimney was unbelievably, still clear of blockage and the draw was good enough to drag most of the smoke away from the interior of the stable. She could never remember being so happy to see flickering flames in her life.

'Not much use that.' Sherlock commented.

'What are you on about? We have a fire! We'll be warm now.'

'That's turf you're burning, a slow-burning fossil fuel which doesn't produce a fraction of the heat coal and oil synthesize when burned.'

'It's still a fire Sherlock.'

'That remains unquestionable; however as can be demonstrated by your completely soaked fleece and breeches, it will not be sufficient to dry your clothes. Or mine.' He reached a hand out and squeezed the end of the material which dripped with water. Before Ruby could respond, the wind was knocked out of her when Sherlock hung his coat near the small fire and began unbuttoning his shirt.

'Wha– What are you doing?' Ruby spluttered, automatically turning away.

'What does it look like I'm doing?'

'Well, it appears you're undressing.' Ruby said; her eyes fixed on the droopy eyes of Hercules at the far end of the stable.

'Excellent deduction.'

'Mind explaining why you're undressing seeing as you just pointed out that the fire was _not_ sufficient to dry our clothes?' Ruby was pinching the bridge of her nose now.

'Isn't it obvious?'

'No Sherlock, it isn't fricken obvious!' Ruby snarled, whirling around but immediately regretting her decision to do so. Sherlock was standing completely shirtless by the fireplace, wringing his shirt of its collected moisture with some difficulty. Ruby swallowed nervously as she watched the muscles she'd only felt, working to drain the water from his shirt. His lean frame was completely void of fat and his skin was prickled with goosebumps as he delicately hung the garment near his coat. Her vocal chords however, abruptly sprang to life when he began unbuckling his trousers.

'SHERLOCK WHAT ARE YOU DOING.' Ruby roared, stopping the detective mid-buckle.

'Well unlike you, I don't plan on catching hypothermia today.'

'It's summer! We're not going to get hypothermia in _summer_.'

'And I presume you are feeling absolutely warm and toasty right now are you not?' Sherlock said with a roll of his eyes.

'Well, I'm warmer than you. Honestly, how can that big brain of yours believe that taking your clothes off will keep you warmer?' Ruby snarled.

'The analysis remains perfectly sound as when you do the same, we'll use our collective body heat to stabilise our core temperatures.' Ruby had no words, just a gaping mouth for this "solution". 'This is no time to be shy Ruby; our lives are quite literally at stake. And I don't know about you but I'd rather be killed in the middle of an exciting case than die of Hypothermia as a result of your "lady-like" behaviour.'

'You… you want me to get undressed and then… _huddle _with you?' She squeaked.

'If you've any better ideas, I'm all ears.' Sherlock said disparagingly before continuing to unbuckle his belt. 'The inside of my coat is still dry; we'll use that to cover us.' He added casually before dropping his trousers, revealing a pair of black boxers.

_At least they're not briefs._

It was a small comfort in a wholly uncalled for situation, the awkwardness of which was yet to be fully experienced.

'Alright… ok. Let's not die of hypothermia.' Ruby said quietly, doing her best to come to grips with this bizarre situation. With reluctant, clumsy fingers, she pulled down the small zip at her throat before slowly pulling her saturated fleece over her head. This in itself wasn't bad as it wasn't the first time Sherlock had seen her without a top on. Most likely the third time now that she thought about it.

'Oh and Sherlock?'

'Mhmm?'

'Not a word about this. Especially to John or anyone at the station.' Ruby snapped ferociously.

'Why would I tell anyone about this? It's hardly something which will pop up in conversation.' Sherlock said dismissively.

But as Ruby hung her fleece near the mediocre fire, a bolt of sudden fear stole through her body.

_No. Not today. Please tell me I'm not that unlucky. _

Ruby closed her eyes and slowly popped a hand inside her breeches where she causally pulled at the elastic of her underwear.

_Oh fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck FUCK. _

There was no mistaking it. Of all the days in the calendar year, she had chosen this unfortunate one.

_I'M WEARING A FUCKING THONG._

A thong which would in the next minute be on display to a certain high-functioning sociopath. A high-functioning sociopath who had enough common sense to wear boxers.

'Um… Sherlock?' She said in a whisper.

'What? Why are you whispering? Are you feeling faint?'

'What? No… it's just… um….' She chewed her lower lip nervously. 'I'm sort of… you know.' She scratched her head anxiously. 'I'm wearing… a _thong_.' From the corner of her eye, she noticed Sherlock had completely frozen.

'Why?' He eventually asked.

'_Why_?'

'Yes. Why. Thongs aren't exactly the most comfortable of garments.'

'I'm _not_ giving you a personal reason; I'm just informing you so you don't freak out when you see it. Ok?' She spat, her face blushing while the goosebumps on her skin intensified.

'Duly noted.' Sherlock muttered, pulling off his socks and shoes before placing them near the fire.

After kicking off her boots, Ruby turned her backside to the fire to shield her uncovered cheeks and awkwardly began pulling down her breeches.

'You know, for someone who worked at a high end strip club for over a year, you're surprisingly self-conscious when it comes to taking your clothes off.' Sherlock remarked with a hint of malice in his voice.

'Well, two things account for that Sherlock. Number one: I'm not in a strip club right now and number two: I'm not preparing to jump your bones.' Ruby hissed as she eventually dragged the breeches off and with a quick swipe, threw her socks near the small fire. An uncontrollable shiver stole through her body as the cool air hit her damp skin and the cold prompted her to ignore her initial embarrassment and hurry over to where Sherlock was already nestled beneath his Belstaff coat. She sighed with relief as the heavy coat enveloped her before severely flinching when an arm encircled her.

'Oh right. Yeah, I forgot about the whole, um skin contact thing.' Ruby muttered.

'Are you alright? You're acting awfully strange.' Sherlock said with furrowed brows. Of course he would find nothing embarrassing or peculiar about this situation, he just viewed it as a method to keep warm.

'This is just a little… odd.' Ruby admitted before slowly relaxing, her stomach pressed against Sherlock's side when she realised he was like a human hot-water bottle. Sherlock hissed when Ruby's chest pressed against his ribcage. 'Are _you _alright?' Ruby asked cautiously.

'Your brassiere… it's quite cold.' He explained through gritted teeth.

'Well tough luck Sherlock; that is staying on.' Ruby said firmly, trying to supress an inappropriate urge to giggle.

'We should be more than able to stabilize our core temperatures, due to your plentiful lipid deposits.' He added.

'Excuse me?' Ruby snarled, tensing up once again.

'You're a woman; you carry around more fat than an average man and you certainly have more insulation than I do. Fat deposits in women are meant for child-bearing and thankfully your genetics seem particularly thrilled with the idea of such a conquest judging by your body shape.'

'Has anyone ever threatened to kill you while you sleep, Sherlock?' Ruby asked quietly.

'Oh yes, very dull exercise. No-one has ever successfully caught me fast-asleep though.'

'I have.' Ruby continued in a deathly quiet voice.

'The only time you'll ever kill me is if I ask you to do it.' Sherlock mused while pulling at the Belstaff coat, his skin heating beneath the places Ruby was pressed against. However, his whole right side remained numbly cold from lack of skin contact and the regular disappearance of the coat when Ruby tugged it around herself.

'Right, this isn't working. Up. Now.' He demanded.

'No, I'm comfy.'

'Well I'm not. It's obvious that the only way we can maintain equal amounts of the coat is by moving you.'

'Moving me where exactly?' Ruby asked suspiciously.

'Between my legs. Obviously.'

'What? No, fuck off Sherlock. This here, this is a position which friends can huddle in. In between your legs however… that's more of a sex position really.'

'Don't be absurd.'

'We're both almost naked, there's a bloody fire going and I'm in a _thong_. I don't believe it to be the most outrageous conclusion to jump to.'

'Well, I think you're an idiot who cares too much for society's approval. And there's also the fact that I'm stronger than you.' With that, Sherlock flattened his legs against the ground and roughly hoisted Ruby from her curled position and dropped her in the space between his legs.

'SHERLOCK!' She screeched, her hands pinned to her sides.

'Please don't embarrass yourself by trying to hit me; I'm helping, not being some sort of pervert.' He explained calmly while releasing her arms from her sides. 'Lie on your side.' He commanded once he was positive the detective wasn't going to break his nose.

'Why?' She asked guardedly.

'Think about it.' Ruby did and after a moment's consideration, she very slowly, not to mention very awkwardly, shifted so her weight was on her right hip and lay gently against Sherlock's chest. Her head automatically turned towards his neck where her nose nestled somewhere near his Adam's apple and after squirming to get comfortable, she allowed her body to relax against the heat of the detective. The coat had been pulled up to her neck and though she hated to admit it, she was now far more comfortable and warmer than she'd been in her previous position. Ruby focused on steady breathing instead of how good Sherlock's skin felt against hers, or how she could hear his heartbeat thumping reassuringly near her right ear or the surprising urge to drag her fingernails along his exposed chest.

As a few more silent minutes skittered past, Ruby moved to get comfortable, her drowsy thoughts ordered her to return to her favourite sleeping position where she lay on her stomach. Her arms which had been originally rooted to her sides; now lay sprawled over Sherlock's body, her palms placed flat against his heated skin. As sleep pulled her down further into comfortable dozing, she was able to ignore the peculiar feeling of Sherlock's boxers pressed against her belly button and what felt like a pair of strong arms hook beneath her armpits and lay gently against the smooth and vulnerable skin of her back. The sleep which had so rudely been taken from her at four in the morning now demanded to be repaid and Ruby was more than happy to oblige, drifting to sleep more easily than if she'd been lying on a mattress made of clouds.

* * *

**Here is my promise: The treat will be posted no later than Saturday to make up for shitty postings. **

**Sound good? (I feel like spoiling you all this week.)**

**I hope this chapter made you all goopy with fluffy happiness. Well that was ridiculously fun to write. Heh. I know, I went with the whole "we need to huddle to survive" thing, but it does in my own opinion seem like Sherlock would suggest if it was needed. And I did my best to keep Sherlock in character, how do my lovely readers think I did?**


	34. Chapter 34

Hey guys,

Just a wee note to say that I'm really sick and won't be posting on Saturday as promised. :( Sorry about that but it's taking a lot of my energy just to write out this one tiny message.

I'll post the special and more chapters next week.

funkyrandomer


	35. Chapter 35

** Well, here it is: the long overdue, eagerly anticipated reward for reaching a hundred favourites. In my defense, my laptop died over a week ago and since then I've been hunting for a new one which I only received two days ago hence the delay in postings. It seems odd that the longest chapter I'm going to post here (almost 8,000 words! What?!) was achieved in the space of twenty-four hours. I missed writing and I hope this meaty chapter will be worth the wait. Be warned! The following is written entirely from Sherlock's perspective IN THE FIRST PERSON. Enjoy! And thank you for the constant support; I cannot believe how much attention this story receives.**

* * *

Upon reflection, I must admit to underestimating Ruby's moronic loyalty (which might rival the stupid bravery of a certain doctor) and have only myself to blame for conducting this line of inquiry in such a terribly blind manner. This conclusion highlights the unusual existence of flaws in a plan of my own creation. The aim was to prove the existence of Ruby's romantic companion through requesting an outrageous favour, one which I was certain she would refuse to grant and yet it appears this plan has backfired in what a romantic might classify as spectacular fashion. If John were privy to the finer details of the situation, he would undoubtedly be smirking into his mug of tea, his eyes holding that irritable "I told you so" gleam when he predicts a social reaction I have failed to anticipate largely due to the boring dimension of the situation. Yet here Ruby and I sit; our hands laden with heavy wine glasses, firing questions at one another in a barbaric attempt to achieve the lowered inhibitions and increased animalistic urges of what the mundane population lovingly refer to as "black-out drunk". I understand completely why ordinary people pursue this level of inebriation. The consumption of alcohol with unwise enthusiasm allows for a momentary state of amnesia where one can forget an existence so tragically ordinary that if properly thought over, the urge to procure a gun and end one's life would be a temptation of the most irresistible fashion.

It appears that for the first time, my exceptional mind comes at a disadvantage as death would be a quick solution to this mess I've created. Obviously such suicide would render an irreparable hole in society. Who on earth would fight the battles I seek on a daily basis not to mention keep an eye on the most preposterously stuck-up older brother mankind has ever known?

So suicide is not an option. What about murdering Ruby? I have witnessed countless ways of killing: stabbing, poisoning, shooting, strangling, decapitating, drowning, burning, electrocuting, suffocating, bombing, beating, asphyxiating… That particular list is endless as is the many ways I could dispose of her body. No body = no evidence= no crime.

Hmm, am I really entertaining the notion of becoming a murderer to avoid the slightly odd situation of having this "teaching" exercise with Ruby?

Yes. It seems so.

Perhaps there is a tidier solution to this mess. Ruby is under the impression I'm drinking copious amounts of alcohol, something she concludes from seeing me raise my glass to my lips and liquid disappearing after a few steady gulps. I'm disappointed she hasn't seen the sponge the liquid is soaking into after every draught of wine. It's nestled beneath the collar of my suit jacket, an amateur magician's trick. Obvious. Yet if she drinks herself into oblivion, all thoughts regarding kissing – ugh, even the word makes me flinch in disgust – will be promptly forgotten until morning where I can claim she provided a fruitful education. That seems like a solid plan, it possesses less ramifications compared with explaining the true motives behind making this request in the first place. Such consequences involve the severe depletion of trust not just where our own… friendship? Yes, it seems odd to apply that word to describe a relationship I have with a member of the opposite sex and yet, it fits. As John Watson is my best friend, Ruby Smith is my…. friend. Indeed. However, such a confession would only hurt the very frail trust beginning to blossom in our own friendship.

'My turn.' Ruby's voice promptly drags me back to the confounding situation of 21 questions coated with alcohol, a game I had unwisely decided to entertain. 'Are you a virgin?'

'No.' Is my immediate response. I find myself amused as her eyebrows furrow in confusion over my answer. She is trying so _very_ hard to gather knowledge regarding my sexual activity but is beginning to realise that instead of the usual library of experiences most men my age possess (not to mention boast of), mine remains a curiously blank slate. I silently observe her needling instincts; a minor part of my mind which cared about this ridiculous situation cheered her on to back the conclusion she'd drawn.

'You're lying.' She eventually murmurs, the words phrased by an odd breathiness which indicates the release of an adrenaline rush for contradicting the answer I had originally offered. It would be too easy to admit defeat and I enjoy leaving her flounder for a few painful seconds, watching as her eyes widen, her imagination spiralling out of control with my dragging silence, inventing images and scenarios of my taking part in copulation. As the doubt begins to crystalize into misleading understanding, I feel it is time to unburden her.

'What are you doing?' I ask lazily, picking up my wine glass from where it balances on the armrest.

'Stop being so blasted impatient! Look, I got it wrong, I'm drink –' Her voice abruptly ceases to exist as I pretend to take a long drink.

'Oh. I got it right then.' She appears to be astounded by her analysis. Low self-esteem… but only around me. Then again, that's hardly surprising. Practically everyone who enters my company is reduced to the status of bumbling idiot.

'_Excellent_ deduction.' I murmur; enjoying the way my words are gently roasted in a sickly sugar-coating which provokes a slight frown to pull at Ruby's delicately shaped eyebrows. This confirmation of my "purity" seems to have dragged her deep into thought and I realise with a sinister smile that her attention would not be focused on what I next asked of her.

'Who would you have a one-night stand with, John or myself?' I casually inquire.

'What?' Ruby asked, snapping out of her trance.

'I _said_, who do you love more; your mother or your father?'

'Father.' Ruby replied instantly, supporting the prediction that she'd been so distracted by my admission to possessing "virginal status" that she'd completely missed the question regarding her preferred partner in a one-night stand. My lack of copulation was (and remains) of little interest to me but the fact that Ruby was heavily distracted by such a subject, leads to some curious musings.

'Easy. Lie.' I respond automatically, reading her tell in the subconscious flick of her right wrist. It only happened when she wasn't telling the truth and was an observation I'd wisely decided not to boast of. Once people become aware of their tell; they did everything in their power to rid themselves of it.

'Whoa. Drink up Sherly, cause you are _wrong_.' Being called "Sherly" and accused of being "wrong" in the same sentence was arguably the most hurtful insult one could construct to soil my ego. Ruby very occasionally was able to cut through my carefully constructed layers of armour and penetrate the tender flesh beneath, completely by accident of course.

I had no plans to enlighten her of this peculiar power of hers.

'No I'm not. You love your mother more than your father. You may like your father more than your mother but that does not mean you _love_ him more.' This denial can only become more tedious.

'You're wrong. Stop being such a baby and drink up.' Ruby's cheeks are rosy in their smugness. It was so frustrating when ordinary people weren't aware of their true feelings regarding their family when I can read them in a simple movement of their wrist.

'I'm. Not. Wrong.'

'Yes you are. It was my mother who wanted so badly to "fix" my sister.' Ruby practically blustered. She always became so passionate where her sister was concerned. Even after all this time since her sister's suicide, she felt responsible. It _still_ hurt.

'So you place the majority of blame for Diane's death at your mother's doorstep. Interesting…' The whole concept of Ruby's younger sister being a psychopath _was_ interesting. It explained so much; her unusually high tolerance of my challenging personality being a prime example.

'You know what? This is taking too long. Sips are out of the window. If you get something wrong, you either down your glass of wine or take a shot of gin.' Ruby demands, rummaging in the bags and withdrawing the small bottle of gin. Ah, Bombay Sapphire. State of the relationship with her mother right there.

'You really want to mix gin with wine?' Her hangover would be mightily impressive tomorrow. I'll have to make sure to mimic her mood.

'Yes I do. Now, next question!'

So far, Ruby was merry in her inebriation. A permanent blush painted her cheeks and combined with the vibrant colour of her hair, she achieved an uncanny likeness to that of a tomato. Well, it didn't take the world's only consulting detective to deduce that despite an unusually high tolerance for alcohol, Ruby Smith had _really _let herself go. Her questions only increased in their absurdity as the gin and wine continued in their alarming depletion and as I had vowed to see this game to the end, I had chosen a suitable drunken personality and portrayed a happier, looser-tongued (not to mention more vulnerable) version of myself with aplomb. This came at the price of some true admissions on my part though Ruby was so hammered; her remembering any of these stories remained highly unlikely. Then there was the small matter that sober I may be, but I could not lie to myself with the same skill and execution as with the public at large. I was beginning to enjoy discussing these unorthodox cases with the merry detective; it was so rare to find an interested audience with no ulterior motives.

The story currently up for discussion regarded a case I'd made a most noble sacrifice for in order to catch a disgusting man.

'_You_ watch porn? Wow oh wow.' Ruby let out a very breathy, low whistle.

'It was for a pervy case with a lot of pervs. I had to learn to think like a perv.' I am momentarily reminded of the hours spent on my laptop browsing site after site of pornography, watching videos of appallingly scripted scenes spanning genres such as straight, gay, lesbian, threesomes, orgy, taboo, interracial, young and old; reading comments, tracing the staring actors and actresses (if they can be called that), tracking the careers of the most successful directors not to mention reading chapter after chapter of disgracefully constructed erotica. Clearing the browsing history after the completion of this case was simply not enough. Placing the laptop in an old microwave at an abandoned construction site on the other hand…

'Pervy for sure.' Ruby did not flatter herself by giggling like a thirteen year-old girl. 'Which branch did you best prefer? Girls with girls, girls with boys, boys with –'

'Shut up your mouth!' I jump unsteadily to my feet, trying to forget the images still knocking around a forbidden corridor of my mind palace. 'The acting was so bad, _so _bad. How could one ever an interest pursue in it?' This was something I found genuinely perplexing with regards to the "modern man". During John's regular spouts of being single, his time spent on these sites would increase. Extracting enjoyment from this voyeuristic activity was not something I could ever hope to understand.

'You're drunk Yoda!'

'What?' I snap; thankful Ruby had dragged my thoughts back to the present and away from the porn-watching habits of my fellow flatmate.

'Drunk Yoda! Oh for aaaaaaaaall the marbles in England, do you not know who Yoda is?'

'Sounds like an idiot.' I say, re-taking my chair and watching Ruby intently.

'He speaketh in weird patterns. Your cognitive processes adopt Yoga tendencies with alcohol. WOW. That was really deep. I'm going to write that down so future Ruby will remember…' She hurriedly rummaged in her bag and in barely legible writing, wrote down the gist of what she'd said. 'It's good you be no pervy porno addict.' She added as she tried to place the cap on her pen but somehow managed to flick it to the other end of the room.

'I'm glad you think so.' It may not have sounded it, but I was trying my best to be sincere. Enough people in this world thought of me as a freak.

'You see… here's what I believe. Porn… it makes sex _orange_ when it should be BLUE. Understand?'

'I don't think I want to understand.' My eyes widened at this bewildering statement. I had no idea such bizarre thoughts resided in Ruby's mind. 'I think I'll have some kids.' I casually add, trying to regain my personality of a drunk with a wagging tongue.

'In what fuckedy fucked up wwu-urld do we live in my darling, where I, a normal woman, does not want to bear children in her uterus but youuu, you do! Sherlock Holmes wants kids! Sherlock Holmes wants kids! Sherlock Holmes wants kids!'

'I don't want… irksome bundles of flesh.'

'But you just said you did! Are yooou lying ta me? If so, have a drinkie!'

'Why more wine?' I ask. It was a valid question; this didn't coincide with the rules drawn out for 21 questions laced with alcohol.

'Maybe Sally Donovan will be your pretty uterus.'

'If she ever offers me her uterus, she'll be trying to make it seem…' My hand swishes back and forth as I imagine such a situation. Perhaps it would be the way she gets rid of me from Scotland Yard for good by filing a sexual assault case against me. It wouldn't be beneath her… and with regards to a "pretty uterus" the genetics would have to be more refined in the female than some sergeant who couldn't stand genius on any level.

'Rapey.' I conclude.

'Ah! Good deduction. That's a funny word. Heh. But this. This is important.' Did she just buff out her chest? Is she perhaps peacocking? How dull, for what length of time had she been harbouring a secret crush for me? Usually I'm so quick to nip them in the bud; I guess I just blindly wished for her to have a grain of common sense knocking about in that head of hers. 'You want to have offspring. Which means… haha watch me use logic! It means you want to have your cherry popped by a woman.' Ah, back to my "virginal status", quite inevitable judging by the interest she showed in it earlier.

'Stop romanticising… everything. You know I find that detestiabcle. Detestabricle. Delectable? Detestable! Uh. Words. So full of nonsensical… idiots.'

'No need to be ashamed of wanting sex Sherlock. S'only natural.' I feel my brows contract severely at this piece of advice. Where had Ruby derived such a conclusion? Obviously she couldn't be referring to me. Intercourse, copulation, breeding, sex – it was all irrelevant. It could pose no help on any level where my cases were concerned. And if there was one thing I despised more than those who got away with crimes due to shoddy detective work, it was useless things. Seeing as offspring wasn't something I was even remotely interested in, sex could only be viewed as a useless form of procrastination. Conclusion? Copulation = brain decomposition.

'But I don't… my case. My work. I have marriage already.'

'But Sherly. Your cases don't have vaginas. So you can't consumerate…? Consummate! You can't consummate that marriage! And your cases… they cannot give you children. So you see the problem? You need a woman. With big breasts and hips. Yes, they make for good child carriers… many children all in one. Boom! Boom! Boom! But why the urge to become dad of the century? That's so very _dull_.' I wonder why Ruby is giving me this information regarding the suitable shape of a woman's body. She can hardly be referring to her own frame which has admittedly above average breasts but rather slim hips for childbearing.

'I don't want to be a father, but my mind…' I tapped my temple gently. 'My mind must carry on. After my body dies.'

'You want to create another consulting detective from your DNA?'

'Exactly, it would be much easier to manage if I had a proper lab… to clone my DNA. Just some hair or some skin.'

The doorbell rang and Ruby hurriedly scurried downstairs to answer the door. In the two minutes she was absent; I quickly withdrew the now saturated sponge from beneath my blazer, squeezed it dry and chucked the remains of both wine glasses down the drain. When Ruby returned, it appeared as if I hadn't moved a muscle since her descent.

'Chinese!' Ruby announced triumphantly upon re-entering.

'Forks.'

'I has them!' Indeed she did, the prongs were peering out of her shirt and the ends appeared to be wedged in her brassiere. When on earth had she done that?

'Say please.' Ruby said with a full on pout. The last person who instructed me to say please was Mycroft. So I gave Ruby the retort I'd given him.

'What _was_ that?' She gasped.

'It's Latin.' I lazily reply.

'Right. What did you say?'

'That I'm the most intelligent man on the planet and I don't have to say please for you or the Queen.' The retort was much snappier when I didn't have to explain what the Latin meant. Mycroft had been shaking with anger at my casual abuse of such a polite language.

'Yes you do.'

'Oh no I don't!' That sentence came out in a most peculiar pantomime fashion.

'Yes!'

'No, give the fork to me now.' Much better, my tone can be taken seriously unlike that bizarre phrasing of before.

'No. Say please.' At the risk of having my stomach growl and lose the argument for me, I decide to be gracious.

'Fine… please?' It did not feel good to bring such a petty argument to a close at my own expense.

'Alright then!' Ruby sang as she thrust the fork into my hand. Unfortunately, the food would sober Ruby up and with that came the problem of avoiding her teaching practise. Perhaps a simple refusal would bring this embarrassing evening to a close.

After a few minutes of eating in silence coupled with Ruby watching me with open astonishment as I ate a full meal before her eyes, I could tell she was fast regaining her soberness. This was demonstrated by the red-haired detective perching on my armrest without falling off after finishing her chicken satay with speedy enthusiasm.

'What are you doing?' I ask as calmly as I can.

'Looks like you're returning to your lovely, rude self. How nice.' She said with a smile. 'Now that we've reverted back to the state of being "tipsy" thanks to Chinese food making our cholesterol soar through the roof, time to move on.' Cholesterol was the least to worry about after eating oriental food.

'To what, exactly?' I ask patiently.

'This.' Ruby reached out a hand and dragged her fingers through my hair; her long nails eliciting an avalanche of tingles to chase down my spine.

'A head massage?' I ask in a deadpan voice, doing my best to ignore the pleasant sensations and the goosebumps they inspired.

'No. Sorry, your hair is rather distracting.'

'_Distracting_?' I ask incredulously. Distracting hair would be that of a drag queen dyed purple and spiralling upwards in some sort of animal shape. Black curly hair was not distracting.

'Aye.' Now both of Ruby's hands were lost in the tousled mop and I had to fight the surprisingly strong urge to close my eyes as she continued her ministrations.

'Would you stop that?' I manage to demand before I lose a firm handle on my rational mind and give into these physical sensations.

'Alright Mr Grumpy.'

'I'm not _Mr_ –' Houston, we have an absurdly big problem. Unless my epistolary knowledge is graciously impaired, it appears detective Ruby Smith is _kissing_ me.

'Now. That wasn't so bad, was it?' Ruby asked cheekily after pulling away, enjoying the look of complete astonishment painting my face. I'm on my feet before I know it, trying to put physical distance between myself and this maniac of a woman. She just kissed – her lips were – why did she – ONE DOES NOT SIMPLY KISS THE WORLD'S ONLY CONSULTING DETECTIVE!

'Are you alright? You look kinda peaky.' Peaky? Oh _no_, why on earth would I be looking as if the blood had drained from my face? It's not as if you smashed your lips against my own, transferring billions of bacteria and germs in the process. I could have contracted mono now and be out of the game for weeks on end! What an utterly selfish, moronic, stupidly idiotic, foolishly ignorant move from a woman who should know better than to conduct such impulsive actions!

'Why did you do that?' I demand, trying to cram all of my outrage into five preposterously polite words.

'You asked me, your only friend of the fairer sex, to teach you how to kiss someone. So congratulations, you've just began step one to kissing like a pro.' Her tone indicated that her actions were not only justified, but that I should understand completely, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world! How _dare _she!

'There's… steps?' For a moment I'm completely disarmed by what appears to be Ruby's rational approach to my ridiculous favour. Her secret relationship wasn't serious, but it appeared that Ruby's firm grasp of my "kissing" request had not been loosened in the slightest by the alcohol pumping through her veins. Where was that temporary amnesia when you needed it?

'Of course there're steps silly! And you've already failed the first one.'

_'What_?' First, she sexually assaults me. Then, she criticizes my _technique?_

'The peck. You were awfully stiff and unreceptive.'

'You ambushed me, of course I was rigid!' I automatically argue.

'Fine. Prove that you can give a nice, supple, tender kiss.' I don't like that look in her eyes. It's full of mischief and something else I wish I couldn't identify.

'And how am I supposed to do that?' I ask in my quietest voice, trying to warn her to back off while things were still friendly. Any friendship we'd formed would be quickly snapped if she didn't let this drop _very _soon. Friendship usually did end when one friend murdered the other and used some impressively creative means to get rid of the body.

'_Kiss_ me you idiot. I thought that was obvious!' Ruby rolled her eyes, her hair swishing to compliment the dramatic movement.

'You… you want me to kiss you.' I'm scratching the back of my head, cursing myself for flirting with such a dangerous idea which had resulted in this dodgy result. I was also furious with Ruby for not only believing the ridiculous request I'd made of her but having the stupid loyalty to follow through right until the very end. Does she know absolutely nothing of my character? My work is everything to me. If ever there existed a case where I needed to convince someone of romantic attachment, I would either think of another solution or improvise with what I had. Look at Molly Hooper! She's a prime example that where women are concerned, I know _exactly_ how to keep them interested enough to give me exactly what I need.

'It's not that big of a deal Sherly, skin against skin! Man up would ya?' Ruby ordered. 'Oh for God's sake.' She yelled at no-one in particular before crossing the room and standing before me. 'This is what you did.' Before I could stop her, complain or put forward any form of rational defence, she leant up and harshly planted a stiff kiss against my lips, her own remaining uncomfortably rigid. 'Not very pleasant is it?' Ruby asked as she withdrew, looking at me with… was that _pity _in her eyes? 'Now stop being so stiff! This is something to be… _enjoyed_.' She explained as her hands began running over my limbs, massaging the stubbornly tense joints in an effort to get me to physically relax.

'I don't see how this can be classified as "enjoyable."' I argue but an uncomfortable twinge in my stomach lets me know that I must bail before the situation escalates further. She'd kissed me twice now, the most physical contact I'd had with a women in…. God knows how many years. I kept any animalistic urges of mine (the ones I liked to brag I didn't possess to make me seem superhuman) firmly in check, a business which had become a force of habit after many years of lack of contact and interest with the opposite sex. I had been fairly certain of my complete indifference to the fairer sex until a certain dominatrix had wreaked havoc in my life and now this blasted police officer was questioning what I thought had been buried for good. My work cannot go through another setback like this.

'If you need it for a case I suppose it doesn't have to be. But for someone you're interested in, you can't help but like what's going on.' Ruby giggled nervously, amazed that she'd taken such a nonchalant approach to this teaching business.

'I'll be the judge of that.' My mind is whizzing through many ways to get rid of Ruby, all plausible, but I had to choose one which didn't completely destroy the friendship we'd forged. This was a friendship I would need most when Lestrade retired and Donovan was promoted to take his place.

'Shut up and listen .This is information you won't find in any of your books or in any room of that mind palace of yours. The main mistake made with kissing is that people purse their lips before the initial contact and allow the bottom lip to do the work. That. Is. Wrong.'

'Wrong?' My mind suddenly grinds to a halt when the solution boldly presents itself. A risky one, and yet… it would mean no killing, no elaborate lies and most importantly, no confessions.

'_So_ wrong. You want to kiss someone properly; then you need to employ the unsung hero of the brilliant kisser. The wonderful upper lip! _Everyone_ forgets about the upper lip. But you judge for yourself which feeling you prefer.' Ruby stretched on tip toe once again and pressed a normal kiss against my mouth using only her bottom lip. Kiss number three sealed the deal it seemed. I squared my shoulders and prepared myself for the rest of the tutorial which there was no unsuspicious escape from. So the only logical course of action was to continue with Ruby's teaching until the very end. To survive, I would treat the entire situation as an experiment and it appeared I might even pick up a new skill from this royal mess. 'Alright, that was the normal, dull way.' She hadn't bothered to move away so her lips brushed mine at irregular intervals as she spoke. It didn't feel too bad but nothing of a sensational matter either. 'Here's the interesting way.' Ruby's top lip gently encompasses my own while her bottom lip set to work, the pair working in harmony for a few moments. I feel the blood rush to my own lips from the physical stimulation complimented by a pleasant tingling in the aftermath of the kiss.

'Better.' I admit honestly, wanting to hurry proceedings on as quickly as possible in order to end this experience I'd so unwittingly triggered.

'Course it was. You even responded.'

'No I didn't!' My voice is more savage than either of us expected. The quicker this entire process ended, the better for all, I think.

'Alright maybe respond was exaggerated, but there was a breath of a response. Heh. I'm such a poet. Why the fuck am I police officer?' She asked no-one in particular.

'You're good at your job. That's why you made detective so young.' I reply honestly.

'Is this one of your lopsided compliments which is secretly wrapped in an insult and you're extra stung as you initially think your ego is being boosted when in fact it's being mocked?'

'No.'

'Oh, it definitely is then.' Oh of course, I'm always the bad guy so therefore anything genuine I say must be interpreted as some sort of insult. Brilliant.

'Ruby –'

'Look, Sherly, this is tricky enough without you mocking me on the side lines too alright?' There's no convincing her of my sincerity so I let her believe the little lie she's so desperate to ratify.

'So have I passed step one then?' I eventually ask, wondering idly how many steps are left to finish off this hellish evening.

'Pffft, you haven't even taken the challenging practical!'

'The challenging prac– oh.' I rolled my eyes. 'Right then.'

'Show me what you've learned!' Ruby said cheerfully.

'You're enjoying this far too much; it's obvious you have a devastating crush on me.'

'Nah you're alright. It's just nice to have the unquestionable authority on this subject matter, leaving you the novice.'

'That leaves you in a highly unusual position. Enjoy it while you can.' Feeling deviously confident after accepting that this was the course I had to take, I decided to take the initiative to lead to a quicker conclusion. Bending my neck a considerable way to accommodate her small frame, I leant down and quickly pressed my lips against hers, employing that unsung hero she kept blabbing about with simple ease.

'Don't keep your eyes open.' She eventually blustered.

'Why? I like to see what I'm doing.' Is that all she had to criticize me with? Wow, I must be _very _good.

'Usually that would be fine, but then it's you we're talking about here.'

'What's _that_ supposed to mean?'

'Your eyes… have you seen them?' I glanced at the mirror and frowned.

'They're both the same colour, aren't colour-blind, possess correctly functioning pupils–'

'Sherly, no! That's not what I mean!'

'Then be less vague!' I spat impatiently.

'Fine! They're too intense. Every time you look at someone it's like: OH MY GOD HIS EYES WHAT IS GOING ON THERE HE CAN SEE MY SKELETON I'M TERRIFIED AND INTRIGUED SIMULTANEOUSLY. Not what we want your lady friend to be thinking. You're always being super-duper observant and your eyes express this when they vibrate over anything which piques your interest.' Sure I'm observant, but surely my eyes aren't terrifying. She must be exaggerating.

'My eyes don't _vibrate_ –'

'Hell yes they do! So in an "intimate setting" that would seriously disturb the smooth vibes you're supposed to be sending out!' She ran a hand through her hair while avoiding the gaze of said x-ray vision. 'Try again.'

'Fine.' She was being awfully picky about my eyes. Ah, obviously she was jealous that her eyes didn't see a tenth of what mine saw.

'And don't be tense'

'I know.' I said irritably. She was treating me like a baby and she should know better than to patronize me. It will end badly for her.

'And the upper lip thing…yeah that was good the previous time. Do it like that again.'

'Ruby. Shut up.' I snarled before leaning down and kissing her once again, eyes firmly closed. I thought this would just be another dull kiss but with the eyes closed, I was surprised and a little jilted to discover that the elimination of my primary sense produced a knot twisting in the base of my gut. I would rather endure Anderson's pointless natterings over his next ten cases than admit to the existence of such a reaction to the woman whose lips were currently mashed against my own.

'Alright, good! Now just a heads up, I'm going to respond next time, so don't pull any lines that I'm "ambushing you" alright?' Ruby said with an eye-closing smile which made me suspect that she was not feeling any sort of knot in her own gut.

'I'll try not to faint.' I say drily though I wondered what the sensation would feel like when she responded. Would it feel awkward? Pleasantly odd? Or disgusting? These were pieces of skin used to eat, speak and chew on; it was hardly going to be enjoyable when two sets of lips locked against one another. Stifling a sigh, I leant down and placed a kiss on lips which were becoming quickly familiar. Then out of nowhere, an eruption of tingling, I'd almost refer to it as some sort of spasm, flooded my sensitive skin for the next ten seconds as Ruby's lips moved tenderly yet firmly against my own. The experience I had to admit; was a country mile from unpleasant.

'You passed step one with flying colours.' Ruby said after pulling away. There was some comfort to be derived from being able to still deduce facts about the ruffled detective after such an unorthodox embrace. She was avoiding looking directly at me so I couldn't analyse her pupil dilation. Her heartbeat was also out of the question as that would mean touching some other part of her skin to check for a pulse. I knew that such contact would escalate this situation into territory beyond the controlled formula of this bizarre little experiment. Her skin was flushed but it had been all night, no proper conclusion could be deduced from her red flesh.

'So… step two?' I prompted as Ruby seemed to be buried in thought.

'Tongue!' She said with a disturbingly bright smile. 'Tricky, and the part which arguably is abused the most. Just remember one simple rule with tongue: less is more. And at all costs, avoid the washing machine.' She added.

'The washing machine…?' That sounded incredibly uncomfortable.

'I won't demonstrate as it's _that_ unpleasant. In a nutshell, it's where one or both members of the embrace, decide to shove their tongue into the others mouth and proceed to violently swirl it around in circles.' Ruby visibly shuddered. 'I nearly became a lesbian after my first kiss with a washing machine.' She shook her head to rid herself of the memory. 'But _you_, you're in good hands. So you won't be plagued with this affliction.'

'Good to know.' I murmured, trying to ignore the rising tension in my muscles at the thought of Ruby's tongue going anywhere near my own mouth.

'And also, none of this bullshit about licking the lower lip asking for "entrance" into the other's mouth. That doesn't happen in real life. If you're enjoying what's going on, your mouth will open slightly out of instinct as it did earlier.'

'But I didn't open my –'

'Yes you did. You didn't acknowledge it but I did.' She plucked at a few creases in her shirt before continuing. 'I'm going to kiss you now and don't be surprised by how weird it feels.' Ruby announced abruptly before reaching up onto her toes and pressing her lips against mine for what felt like the millionth time. My response was more automatic this time; I didn't need to think too much about what my lips were doing. However, that was all thrown violently out of the window when something _long _and _wet_ gently entered my mouth. It was hugely uncomfortable and eradicated in a swift mushroom cloud the enjoyment which I'd surprisingly found from any of the previous embraces. This was odd. Not good odd either. 'Don't freeze. Keep moving.' Ruby whispered encouragingly, kissing me once again. It took a long couple of seconds before I began to get used to this alien feeling in my mouth. I tried ignoring the amount of bacteria I'd just willingly allowed to rub against my tongue and focused on how the slippery sensation wasn't the most awful thing I'd ever experienced in my life. Being shot was worse than this. Having your best friend threatened with explosives was worse than this. Grow up Sherlock!

'Good. I know it's weird –' Ruby began after the bewildering embrace had broken.

'I think you need to employ a stronger adjective.' I muttered.

'Uncomfortably weird –'

'Not strong enough.'

'Well you think of one then!' Ruby said while shaking her head. 'Icky?' She tried again.

'Yes, that was the initial sensation.' I admitted.

'Initial?'

'It became more… bearable.'

'Even enjoyable?' Ruby teased while placing her hands on her hips.

'Let's not push it.'

'Fine. Onto more practise then?'

'I'm not the type which gives up halfway.' And this will end sooner if I just get it over and done with.

'No, the obsessive ones never abort a mission.' Ruby said with a small chuckle. 'When you use tongue, like I said –'

'Less is more.' I roughly interrupted.

'Eh. Yeah.' He watched her swallow uncomfortably. Good. This was an awkward experience for both of them.

After a few seconds, I decided to jump in and began kissing her like before. It only took a moment before my tongue slowly slunk into Ruby's mouth, though it was a tense entrance, causing Ruby to quickly pull away. 'Supple. Tender.' She reminded 'Not stiff.' If Ruby could stop talking, that would make proceedings a lot more easier, not to mention less embarrassing. My hands clenched in frustration at my sides, I was used to mastering anything I tried my hand at with cold indifference and grace. Neither were coming to me in this situation.

'You're so Goddamn serious Sherlock! If I could teach the male population to learn what you've learnt in triple the amount of time, I'd have opened up kissing clinics years ago. Even in _this_ you pick things up abnormally quickly.'

'I was of the opinion that this for most men was a quick process.' I couldn't have been more disparaging if I tried.

'True. And look at the population of terrible kissers in England! Disgraceful.' She had another little chuckle. 'Stop doubting yourself.' Ruby murmured.

'I don't feel doubt.' I automatically argue, feeling a white hot burning shame at her words.

'Course you do. You're a man Sherlock, a brilliant one sure, but a man nonetheless.'

'You really love calling me brilliant; that has to be the fourth time this week alone you've employed that adjective.'

'Shut up you show off.' I'm startled when she breaks our unspoken rule, her hands which had remained stoic by her sides reaching up for my collar and sharply tugging me down to her level. Her lips were pressing eagerly against mine before I could protest further, moving with a ferocity which up to this point, she'd kept veiled from me. I'm surprised, not at her actions which I had anticipated would scale with the passing of time, but by how I'm flattered by them. Her hands slide enthusiastically into my hair, raking at my sensitive scalp in the pleasing manner she'd done before. I decide to mirror her rebellious actions and allow my hands to snake round her snug wait. What had before been awkward; now made perfect sense. It was the next logical step to pull her closer, her body heat diffusing nicely through my light shirt and banishing the goosebumps her playful hands were responsible for. I feel my concentration narrow in on the woman with closed eyes and dyed red hair. I ignore the dripping of the tap in the kitchen, the rumble of the London traffic outside 221B. I'm oblivious to the creak of the floorboards beneath our feet and the odd whistling noise generated by a mischievous draft. I can no longer hear the neighbours arguing next door and I most certainly don't detect any of Mrs Hudson's pottering about in the flat downstairs. My senses were too busy being overloaded by brand new information which zipped through my motor nerves with blinding speed, making my head rush but simultaneously crave for more. I could feel my heart pounding as if I were sprinting after Britain's most wanted criminal as Ruby's lips continued to lock against my own. For the first time since the terrible beauty of heroin had been introduced into my veins, I was completely oblivious to the ebb and flow of my surroundings. All of my focus was zoned in on the newsfeed where my sense of touch was posting updates like a maniac on fire. I could feel Ruby's ribs gently pressing against her skin as my hand wandered freely up and down her side, my other hand grasping the smooth texture of her warm neck, goosebumps chasing my lingering touch. Then it was north to that forest of fiery hair, the soft texture of which I couldn't help but smirk at as it was imprinted to memory.

But it wasn't just my touch, it was hers too. Ruby's fingers continued to clench and unfurl in my hair while a violent blush painted her cheeks scarlet from the surprisingly ferocious embrace. Soon her hands were wandering south, tracing over my hollow cheekbones before moving further down, curious fingers tracing my jawline, my neck, my Adam's apple… She gently ran her fingernails along the exposed flesh at the nape of my neck which took me off guard and I surprised both of us with the vocal appreciation which escaped my throat. It made my blood pump faster and I felt useless just standing there, so I moved, pushing her backwards which only intensified her grip on me. I felt her smile as a wall met her back, a quiet surprise for her as it appeared she'd been too distracted to realise she was walking backwards at all. Her hands travelled further south, running over my shoulders, my chest, provoking chills to chase down my spine, legs and come to an abrupt halt at my toes.

And then it was over the unbreakable embrace was broken and in deafening silence, we regarded one another uncertainly. I hadn't stepped back so my nose still pressed gently against hers, my head still bent from leaning down to capture her lips. Nothing was said as our chests gradually stopped heaving; a silent staring contest took place as we both came to terms with what had just happened. My thoughts were unusually still, I was waiting for the scornful thoughts, the angst-fuelled tirade but it did not come. Not yet anyway.

The front door opening and closing shattered the atmosphere in a harrowing way.

'That'll be John.' I managed to whisper. 'It's late, _very _late. It would be… unwise for you to go home.' At least logic hadn't completely abandoned me.

'Thanks Sherlock… I'll just crash on the –'

'Take my bed.'

'–couch, wait _what_?'

'Go. Now. Before John comes in from checking in with Mrs Hudson. Look, I'll explain…' I glanced round the messy room. 'I'll explain this.'

'Alright, thanks. Good night Sherlock.'

'Good night Ruby.' Now would be the time to move and let her saunter undetected into my bedroom. That had been my plan though it seemed there was a bug with my motor neurons which refused to allow me to move my body away. I wanted to talk to her, to discuss what had happened when footsteps where discerned mounting the stairs.

'_Go_.' I ordered, stepping aside to allow Ruby to scuttle from the room, quietly closing the bedroom door just as John entered the living room.

'Evening – bloody hell Sherlock, what happened here?' John's eyes roved around the messy living room, his eyes settling on the empty bottles of wine, two orders of Chinese and two glasses.

'Had to entertain a guest for a case. Tedious work indeed, I don't know how you do it for fun!' I had to resist the urge to begin pacing to rid myself of this manic restless energy.

'Alright, sorry about humanity being a big fat lot of stupid idiots. And what happened to your hair?'

'My hair? Why? What's wrong with it?'

'Sherlock, there's no need to get so defensive, it just looks as if you were dragged through a bush backwards.'

'Oh.' I glanced in the mirror to find that John's description was quite accurate. 'You know; humidity. Curls have a life of their own!' I say absentmindedly, fighting off a smile at remembering how Ruby's fingers had been the case of such dishevelment.

'Right. Listen, unless you need anything else, I'm off to bed. Try not to leave this living room in this state, poor Mrs Hudson will have a heart attack if she sees the mess you've made.'

'Night John!' I said bracingly.

'You're in an awfully good mood.' John said suspiciously. 'Were you drinking _gin_?' He asked incredulously as his eyes fell on the small blue bottle peering out from beneath the table.

'Yes, hence the good mood. Plus a break in the case which I'll tell you all about in the morning!' I leapt joyously onto the couch before grasping my hands beneath my chin and pretended to dive into the depths of my mind palace. But with such whirlwind thoughts, it was impossible to control them at this point.

'Night Sherlock, I'll leave you to… whatever it is you're doing.' John muttered before climbing the stairs to his own room. After what seemed like an eternity, his door slammed shut and I leapt from my chair and bolted through the kitchen, pausing outside of my own room. My hand hovered uncertainly over the door knob but I found my fingers unable to twist the handle. After grappling with this anomaly for a moment, I gave up and slunk to the floor, my head threatening to explode with the sheer amount of thoughts pressing against the inside of my skull. I couldn't discern a single lucid thought from the chaotic mess; such was the ridiculous nature of my mind at this point. Curse all feelings for getting in the way of solid brain work! I needed to calm myself, to sort through this mess, to categorise and file away each important thought and discard the rest of the junk. I had to put my cases first seeing as it was not only my livelihood, but also my life. And arguably most importantly, I needed to derive some sort of conclusion from this incredibly complex experiment riddled with variables I couldn't even begin to list.

After a lapse of a considerable period of time, I jumped to my feet with a much calmer frame of mind. The door swung open with a light twist of the handle, revealing a peacefully slumbering woman. Ruby was sleeping soundly and I couldn't help but wonder if any sort of extreme thoughts had pulverized her own mind before exhausted, she had finally been allowed to rest. After some more thinking, I stepped out of the room and closed the door behind me, entering the living room where I slumped into my favourite armchair. The sound of the ticking clock echoed around the now silent apartment, the discarded Chinese and wine glasses the only evidence of the sensational events which had taken place in 221B that night.

* * *

**So there we are! What did you guys think? Writing in the first perspective was tough; I kept slipping into the third perspective without even noticing! Did I keep Sherlock in character? I hope so, even though telling this particular encounter from his perspective was BLOODY HELL. It was also immensely fun to get properly inside his head. Reviews make my heart go all a flutter as I'm sure I've expressed in these little notes I leave at the bottom of these chapters. Anyway, I hope my hard work paid off and satisfied any Sherlock cravings you're currently battling (which will very shortly be completely satisfied as something small came to my attention: THEY ONLY WENT AND FINISHED FILMING THE THIRD EPISODE OF SEASON THREE.) So much love for this show; and I'm superbly proud that I just got my parents addicted. A family of Sherlockians, sure why not? Adios my lovely readers. Have a nice morning, afternoon, evening or very late night!**


	36. Chapter 36

It was a poorly concealed fact that Ruby wasn't a fan of surprises. This character development was quite tardy in its addition to her identity, as it was provoked by the unpleasant bombshells she'd coped with during her undercover operation. With a swooping drop in her stomach, she began to examine the two surprises awaiting her after she'd returned with gruff swiftness from sleep.

The first: she was lying with barely any clothes atop a scantily clad Sherlock, his restless gaze pausing thoughtfully on something beyond her line of vision, something which lay at the entrance of the stable. Ignoring the development of how Sherlock was performing the duty of make-shift mattress (a duty he was rather good at) she turned her attention to an even more troubling revelation. As she slowly raised her head, massaging the muscles of her aching neck in the process, surprise number two promptly presented itself with wide eyes and an unnaturally still body.

'Is _that_ – ' Ruby whispered.

'Yes.' Sherlock replied sharply.

'But–'

'This would be a wonderful time for you to shut up, Ruby.' Resisting the urge to clobber the detective for his smarmy rudeness, Ruby continued staring at the unexpected guest who still hadn't moved.

'What do we do?' Ruby hissed as the seconds trickled past.

'Stay still and wait till he leaves.'

'You think he's going to go away without _any_ coaxing from us?'

'I don't think he'll leave, I know he will. Now be quiet and _don't_ make any sudden movements.' Ruby slowly returned her head to Sherlock's chest, her eyes rooted on their unforeseen guest. She honestly didn't understand why they were staying put when they needed to be making a snappy exit, but with Sherlock's hands placed firmly on each of her shoulder-blades, she was forced to trust his stupid little plan.

'How do you know?' She asked after a solid thirty seconds of silence.

'Know what?'

'That it's a "he"?' Ruby did her best not to bite a chunk out of Sherlock's neck when he mocked her with a heavy sigh.

'Obviously it's a male, didn't you notice his rather large male reproductive organ? And I'm sure even your little brain can identify a set of antlers.'

'He's _huge_.' She berated herself for thinking out loud; it would only bait Sherlock to insult her with vindictive grace.

'Yes. Even by normal standards, he is an incredibly large stag.' No sarcasm, it seemed she had escaped his wrath, though rather unwittingly.

'Why can't we move?'

'It might just be my flawless logic, but I'd rather not spook a stag within a confined area which happens to contain two tethered horses. Unlike some, I'm not desperate greet my death via trampling.' Ah, there it was. You could always count on Sherlock Holmes to insult your curiosity with the added bonus of being made to feel like the world's biggest idiot.

'It was only a question.'

'And the conclusion I drew was only the right answer.' Sherlock scorned, his hands sliding to the small of her back when she gently raised her upper body and looked down at him reproachfully. 'Problem?' He asked with quirked brows.

'Problem_s_.' She corrected, glancing at the stag, then to the horses before landing on the man lying beneath her.

'I preferred you when you were asleep. Much less annoying.' Sherlock's usual bored tone was disguising something which could be mistaken for mild concern. 'Now, in the interest of our collective safety, would you mind lying back down?'

'Only if you stop being an insufferable git.' Sherlock deigned not to reply, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief which deeply unsettled Ruby. '_Fine_.' She muttered before returning to Sherlock's torso, trying to come to grips with this wonderfully absurd situation. More silence followed with Ruby's eyes fixed on the shadowy creature half illuminated by the lazy sun. The stag threw a magnificent shadow in the doorway of the stable, his head erect, showcasing a startlingly beautiful set of antlers. It really looked as if sharp branches were sprouting out of the crown of the stag's head. The coat was brown, flecked with generous proportions of grey and every few seconds, he would paw the ground in an almost bull-like fashion. Thinking about the prongs of those antlers having the opportunity to pierce her vulnerable flesh did nothing to help Ruby relax.

'I just can't get over the fact we're being watched by a stag. How long has he been standing there anyway?' She eventually whispered.

'Oh, you know. Few hours.'

'Sherlock.' Ruby said warningly.

'He walked in three seconds before you woke up. The total time he's been there is three minutes, forty-seven seconds.'

'And counting.'

'He'll get bored. Stags always do.'

'Oh, so in a past life you were a stag then.'

'Ruby, don't –' His voice abruptly broke off and combined with the stiffening of his limbs, gave Ruby ample evidence to begin to worry. Was the stag coming further into the room?

'What is it Sherlock?'

'Ruby Smith… did you just _smell_ me?' He accused, completely outraged.

'No.' Ruby replied in a quiet voice, her limbs relaxing when she realised it was something not worthy of her anxiety.

'You did. You just smelled me. Why?'

'I didn't smell you.' Ruby said while closing her eyes.

'Yes you did. You sniffed the area just above my Adam's apple; a significant second longer on the inhalation compared with your normal breathing-in rate.'

'How could you _possibly_ know what my normal breathing-in rate is?'

'You've been asleep. I was bored. I catalogued data about you to pass the time.'

'_What_?'

'Oh stop being so irate. You should be flattered I paid you any attention at all; then again, you were the only interesting thing in this stable.'

'Oh… well, um –'

'Until you were usurped by the presence of our friendly neighbourhood stag.'

'_Hey!_ I am much more interesting than some stag on steroids.'

'I don't know about that, the premise of that experiment sounds positively delightful. What I do know is that you obviously find _me _more fascinating than the stag judging from your recent sniffing expedition.'

'I. Did. Not. Smell. You.'

'Oh? Well, if you didn't, please do.'

'Wait –_what_?'

'Smell me.' Ruby stayed very still, not trusting to look at the tyrant who was no doubt smirking mischievously.

'Why should I… smell you?' She asked cautiously.

'I need data.'

'For…?'

'It would be of a great use to me if a member of the opposite sex would be able to tell me how I smelled.'

'How is that of any use to you?'

'Oh Ruby, I never expected you to underestimate the delicate power buried within pheromones. I've exercised rigorously today and have no man-made cologne assaulting your nasal orifices, allowing for the rare opportunity of cataloguing the smell which I exude. It'll come in useful in the future when I need to either repel or draw members of the opposite sex to gain data for cases.'

'Can't you just – smell yourself?' She wondered.

'Obviously not, I'm immune to my own scent as you are to yours.'

'So, you actually _want _me to smell you.'

'Yes. Hurry up!'

'Alright…' With awkward movements, Ruby buried her nose at the point Sherlock had accused her of sniffing, and feeling like a complete idiot, took a generous inhalation.

'Well?' Sherlock demanded.

'Um…' Ruby's mind spun for a second as her eyes closed against the consulting detective's neck.

'Ruby, your eyelashes are tickling my neck. It isn't comfortable.'

'Oh right. Um, yeah.' She jerked away from his neck and settled on a lower point of his shoulder. 'Description of your smell…' _Unbelievably musky. _'Well, you smell a bit like pine trees, but that's because of the forest…' _Fresh, yet full bodied. _'It's quite strong…' _Though not overpowering. Nope. Just the right amount of pheromone there. _'It's nicer than the cologne I usually encounter.' _The way you smell Sherlock is the reason men buy cologne._

'What, better than Lestrade's superfluous use of aftershave that one would not be misguided in believing he was a teenage boy who viewed eau-de-toilet as a substitute for regular showering? That's hardly a compliment.'

'Um, well yeah, you smell better than him.' _Christ Sherlock, if you weren't such an ass, I'd say you smelled pretty goddamn delicious._

'Is that everything?'

'Uh-huh.' Ruby muttered, deciding not to voice the inner teenage girl monologue regarding Sherlock's scent.

'So, all you could garner from one sniff was that I smell like a mild forest?' Ruby decided it was wise not to correct him. It was already startling that she found Sherlock's natural perfume to be very… _nice_. Compared with the other men she'd had the opportunity of smelling (this really was turning into a bizarre train of thought) Sherlock by far smelled better. The oration of this small epiphany would only happen when a surprisingly intelligent animal which bore delicious bacon developed a set of wings and circumnavigated the globe.

'Mhmm, you smell like the woods.' She murmured.

'Have another whiff, maybe you missed something.'

'You know what? It's subtle. That's good. You don't need to worry about disgusting B.O issues, so I don't need to smell you again.'

'Did you find it repulsive?' Ruby could practically hear his eyebrows contracting.

'No Sherlock, I found it _so_ attractive that if I so much as go near your Adam's apple again, I'll have no choice but to instantly seduce you and conduct a few hours of raucous, mind-blowing, not to mention highly creative, sex.' Ruby expostulated, her right hand balling into a fist on Sherlock's chest. Suddenly, both of their bodies stiffened and a white hot blush crept up Ruby's neck, painting her usually pale face scarlet. Her breath hitched in the back of her throat when she realised what she'd accidently accomplished.

_Just when I think this day cannot become any more awkward, or there's nothing else I can do to embarrass myself… Life takes up the challenge and violently smacks me with that idealistic notion._

'I'm… Sherlock I didn't mean –' Ruby tried to explain something which was far beyond her grasp.

'It's fine.' He forced out, every muscle in his body tense from the unusual stimulation.

'No, I just mean, I uh, I moved my hand –'

'I _said_ it's fine.'

'B-But I didn't realise that your, um, your, that it would be, that my hand would –'

'Ruby, your blithering isn't going to erase the fact that your hand brushed against my nipple.' Sherlock said in an agonisingly aloof voice, causing every corner of Ruby's body to cringe in embarrassment.

'Sorry.' She squeaked.

'Stop apologising. It's annoying.'

'Sor – oh! Ummm…' Ruby floundered around for a quick change in conversation before finding it staring her straight in the face. 'He's gone!' She said blankly, the absence of the magnificent stag leaving a drab entrance to their temporary shelter. Sherlock sat up so quickly, he had to firmly grab Ruby's waist to stop flinging her across the stable floor.

'Indeed, our mascot appears to have vacated the premises.' Sherlock stopped to find a somewhat flustered Ruby prising his fingertips from her waist. 'Are you alright Ruby?'

'F-Fine.'

'Your stutter betrays your words. What's wrong?'

'It's been a bit of a weird day, in case you haven't noticed.' She snapped.

'Oh.' Was his only comment as he quickly let go of the red-haired detective. She sprang to her feet as if she'd made a major break in the case before hurrying towards the dwindling fire where a series of damp, (but at least not soaking wet) clothes invited her to a more dignified appearance. 'You're acting awfully strange.' He observed.

'Well, I guess it's not every day you wake up to a staring competition with a stag.' She muttered while battling with her breeches, a war which she eventually won, but without grace.

Sherlock frowned at her hurried antics; something else entirely was demanding her attention, though at this precise moment, he wasn't thoroughly interested in the root of her current discomfort. Probably some boring chagrin of a sentimental nature.

'We need to get back to the house before dinner. C'mon, put your clothes on.' She ordered. To her surprise, Sherlock chuckled to himself as he crossed his legs beneath him. 'What's so funny?'

'Oh, it's not the first time I've been ordered to put clothes on.' His mouth was split by a rare, true smile.

'Then, when was the first?' Ruby asked, dragging the black fleece over her head.

'Oh I forget the exact details, but it was something to do with Buckingham palace, my naked self being covered by a sheet and Mycroft turning puce due to my blatant disregard for societal norms expected from members of the commonwealth.'

Ruby's mouth gaped slightly at this casual titbit of information, the contents of which sent her imagination spiralling. She could vividly picture a scene where Sherlock was sitting on a finely upholstered sofa with a white sheet draped magnificently over his body. Opposite him would be Mycroft, staring down his nose with disdain painting his hawk-like features at the latest inconvenience his little brother had caused. He would be asking him to put on his clothes, beyond furious with Holmes Junior for daring to embarrass him at the very heart of British pride. Sherlock of course would refuse to cooperate, possibly flashing a bit of skin to prove his indifference to the magnificent place he was so calmly disrespecting.

Then with a sharp intake of breath, Ruby connected an old strand of information which she'd dismissed as remaining forever mysterious. The ash tray Sherlock had offered her the first time she'd smoked in Bakerstreet, the one she'd almost dropped upon reading its inscription… he'd procured it from this little excursion to Buckingham Palace.

'Was the Queen in trouble?' She was beyond curious where this little trip was concerned.

'Oh no, the Queen was too busy threatening to confiscate my sheet if I didn't put on my proper attire.' Ruby's smile mirrored Sherlock's when she realised the Queen in this instance was none other than Holmes Senior.

'I had no idea he was… that he swung –' She was cut off by Sherlock tapping the side of his nose twice before leaping to his feet and hunting around for his no-doubt crumpled shirt and suit. She watched him for a long moment, finding her gaze irresistibly drawn to his lean frame. There really wasn't a millimetre of excess fat on his body, nothing but sleek muscle lay over his torso which with his tiny diet; should have a much more dilapidated appearance.

'Problem, Ruby?'

'I'm just amazed you have no scars.' Ruby said while her eyes ran over the smooth mass of skin, uninterrupted by any sort of blemish.

'My battles don't usually leave me with mementos of a physical nature.' He murmured; cutting off the pleasing view as he snappily closed the buttons of his shirt. Sherlock strode towards Hercules, quickly untethered the beastly-sized horse and impatiently tugged him outside. Ruby shook her head slightly before following suit with Mad Max, coaxing the horse from the dilapidated stable.

Moments later the two were trudging through the dripping forest, their feet biting into the spongy earth and leaving footprints almost as deep as their steeds. The walk was conducted in complete silence with Ruby glancing at Sherlock every few minutes, her heart fluttering uncomfortably every time she took in his sharply hewn features. Sherlock's attention was far away, his eyes gazing at something beyond Ruby's line of vision, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he grappled with a newly found problem. Try as she might to avoid a heavy thinking session regarding the most interesting man in her life, her thoughts constantly veered towards her feelings regarding their unorthodox friendship. After grappling with herself for a furious ten minutes, she gave in and began inspecting the different elements which had recently unsettled their relationship.

Before Sherlock's almost outrageous request, their friendship had been fairly normal Well; as normal as a relationship with a high-functioning sociopath could be. Ruby's odd childhood which involved growing up with a psychopath, facilitated the possibility of such a friendship with a man most members of society could never hope to understand or get on with. Yet here the two of them were, getting on not just where work was concerned, but on the personality front as well. Then the request had been made, Ruby had complied and she'd taught Sherlock Holmes how to kiss. This would have been fine, perfectly normal, wouldn't have changed anything if it had not been for that last kiss. He'd pushed her against a wall and their lips had locked for about thirty seconds (though at the time, it felt like several sun-lit days) and his hands went _everywhere_. Even this didn't send up the warning signals she'd expect from other men in this situation, it was the way he'd _looked_ at her after they'd broken apart. Not observing, seeing. Thinking about the clarity within those intelligent eyes made her shiver slightly, so unnerving was the memory. Next thing she knew, he'd ran away on some case and she'd felt – goddamn it she had to admit it to herself even if she couldn't admit it to another living soul. She'd felt… _disappointed_. How she'd yearned to broach the subject with him, if only John hadn't come home at that moment and caused her to flee into Sherlock's bedroom! What might have happened…? Her speculations could draw no solid conclusions and as Sherlock said himself, it was criminal to solve a problem without all the necessary data.

The next time she saw the detective was completely unexpected, and how her heart had raced when he casually introduced himself to Carson. The next memory of the two of them could only be referred to as _the _dance. Her heart flopped around pathetically when she remembered the way his arms had encircled her and with great purpose, he'd led her around the dance floor. Leaning against his shoulder was something she'd never wanted to do with any man she'd danced with in the past, yet it had seemed logical. It would've been stupid _not _to. And he hadn't complained in the slightest. No, instead of wrenching away, he'd traced patterns along her lower back. The very memory of his touch triggered shooting shivers in her spine, racing each other down to the very tips of her toes. It was odd to think that she'd felt so at ease, so safe in the arms of an emotionally stunted sociopath and yet, there was no denying it. That was how she'd felt. Secure with Sherlock Holmes, the man who literally went searching for danger to fend off the boredom which plagued his very bones. It didn't make sense to feel safe with him. She should run in the opposite direction and not look back, but like John Watson; she needed him. Yes, her world had been inconveniently tossed and turned by this man, but it was interesting, it was _fun_.

The latest unusual occurrence had happened only this morning where the two of them ended up huddling for warmth. His heat against her own skin, the texture of his flesh pressed firmly against her own, his musky scent which she found so bloody delicious combined to create an experience of a nature which was a very far stretch from ordinary friendship. Ruby chewed on her lip when she thought about Sherlock's strong hands splayed against the small of her back, feeling the muscles coil and relax with every breath she took, she'd been so _aware _of every single aspect of him. She idly wondered if that was what he was like about everything he observed, what a painful experience if it was…

She sighed heavily when she realised she'd explicitly gone against John Watson's wishes and had toppled over the cliff edge he'd warned her about, a cliff edge which contained no hope of being rescued, only a horrendous plunge with a nasty ending. As the two of them found the main forest path and mounted their horses, there was no dismissing the conclusion screaming from every inch of Sherlock's remarkable form. The true stimulation of her heart flip-flopping in her chest could not be passed off as casual admiration of her friend. There was no point denying what she'd been determined to remain ignorant of.

_Fuck it. Fuck it all! Sherlock Holmes, say hello to your latest admirer who is very, very taken with you._

Now all that remained was to inform the detective of her feelings.

* * *

**Ahhhhhh! Next chapter I'm so excited for, my goodness! I'm sorry for the delay, College has been hectic! But confessions, feelings, answers! Who knows what's going to happen next? (Well, hopefully I do!)**


	37. Chapter 37

**An Uninvited Guest**

6:38am.

That was the time according to the old grandfather clock nuzzled in a smarmy corner of the room and the news triggered a bout of ferocious eye-rubbing which did nothing to relieve Ruby of her itchy eyes.

She wasn't really awake, but she wasn't really asleep either.

Sleeping wasn't an option; her thoughts were hounding her tired brain into that dusty zone which only insomniacs were familiar with. Finding solace in the land of dreams was a luxury bearing a price beyond any means of current payment. Fingers tapped impatiently on the expensive armrest of a plush armchair which didn't belong in her bedroom. But then again, none of these furnishings should reside in her chamber seeing as this wasn't_ her_ room. If sleeping wasn't an option, then spying on a certain tall, dark, mysterious man whom she'd grown overly fond of would surely pass the time.

Her jaw clenched from jealousy as she watched the gentle rise and fall of Sherlock's chest, ignoring the thread criss-crossing the room which as she'd predicted, had driven Carson into a rare fit of fury. There had been mention of resignation, which was as shocking as Carson conducting a vile killing-spree and utilising cannibalism to hide his victim's corpses.

Ruby would be very annoyed if she fell asleep now, not because of her fear of being discovered, (she needed to talk with Sherlock anyway,) but because of the urgency of what needed to be discussed. Plans needed to be made and set in motion, though it was beyond Ruby's current skillset to unceremoniously jerk the detective from slumber. He looked so peaceful, so at _ease_. It would be beyond cruel to devoid his brain of the few hours rest which it desperately needed.

_Why can't I drag him from bed as he did with me yesterday? Oh that's right, I have an all-consuming, heart-aching crush on the man and it makes me do incredibly stupid things around him. Most excellent!_

Ruby pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes in disgust. These destructive trains of thought had to stop veering into such uncomfortable territory.

* * *

'Ruby.' A voice commanded quietly.

'Mhmmm….' She muttered.

'Ruby Smith, wake up.'

'G'way Sherlock, lemme sleep, get outta my room, you shroom.'

'I would, but I believe that you are in fact encroaching on my own personal space. Would you mind explaining why you find yourself sleeping on an armchair in my chamber?'

It took a moment for Ruby's sluggish brain to fully understand these words, but after a few seconds, she jerked upright, a painful ache residing near her neck. She blinked rapidly, taking in Sherlock's room which was now devoid of the multiple layers of intersecting thread and had sunlight streaming through the tall windows. Her attention returned to Sherlock who perched on the side of his unmade bed, wearing his usual tailored black suit with a wine shirt one size too small pulled enticingly over his lean frame. Ruby hurriedly dragged her attention away from this pleasing display and was horrified when her skin went through piloerection beneath his watchful gaze. Goosebumps were hardly going to escape his attention. This was not helped by her own gaze watching her naked arms, drawing even more curiosity to this anomaly.

'It's no wonder you're cold, the human body's temperature always drops upon falling asleep, hence why the use of blankets to maintain steady warmth is such a popular trend among society.' Sherlock remarked pompously, his eyes glancing at both of her arms before returning to her face. Sherlock rolled his eyes before springing to his feet and flinging something in Ruby's general direction. After closer inspection, she realised it was a certain electric-blue dressing gown.

'Why –'

'Something's changed. It involves me personally as you let me wake of my own accord in order to find me in the best possible form when you delivered this news. Put on the dressing gown and tell me what it was about yesterday which allowed you to arrive at such a startling conclusion which has inflicted short-term insomnia.' He rattled off, choosing to stand and observe her from his considerable height.

_He knows_.

Ruby temporarily lost control of her limbs and found the very idea of donning a dressing gown absurdly impossible. She was paralysed by the fear that he already knew, had probably known before she knew and had made it perfectly clear to her as their relationship evolved that nothing of a romantic nature could ever exist between the two of them.

A dull ache flickered in her chest, but with it came the return of her bodily functions. The dressing gown was soon folded around her and after focusing on her breathing instead of the cold, intense gaze watching her, she began to speak.

'The Mastercard… I –'

'You're not going to help me catch her.' Sherlock finished quietly before striding to the opposite side of the room and flinging the wardrobe doors open with a _THUMP! _'Can't say I wasn't expecting a betrayal from you sooner or later, but even I must admit that the timing, not to mention the rationale behind such a move remains less than satisfactory. Letting true justice slide in favour of spite, that's a new low, _detective_.' Rage flared in Ruby's gut as Sherlock began pelting the contents of his wardrobe into the rest of the room, she even had to duck when a shoe came hurtling towards her head.

'You weren't there –'

'When you had dinner with your obnoxious parents? No, I wasn't. But it doesn't mean I don't know _exactly _what went on.' He hissed, stopping momentarily in the pulverisation of his wardrobe. 'You didn't eat much last night, mainly because the dishes served were of the seafood variation and as a child, you had a rather alarming experience when you adopted one of the lobsters in the kitchens and were so happy you had a pet of your own before it was boiled to death in front of you.'

'Sherlock –'

'Foodstuffs aside, it was made apparent to you when you had dinner with your parents the very reason for you being estranged from them in the first place; they're horrible people who should probably be put to death by stoning.'

Would you please –'

'You want the Mastercard to succeed in her endeavour, as you believe this is the punishment which your mother deserves. I'll admit freely she isn't the ideal human being, but do you realise what you're asking of me Ruby? If I allow her to slip by, not only will it result in the loss of a future heirloom for you, it will mean the death of _my_ reputation. I have endured that pain once before and I solemnly vowed to never undergo such unwitting antics ever again. So in answer to your poorly worded question, I completely refuse. Not only is it wholly irrational, the very notion of allowing a criminal to win and gain increasing sympathy from the commonwealth is not something I will allow to be accomplished!' He vehemently threw down the pile of coats momentarily suspended in his arms. 'Good day to you Ruby, I trust I will not be seeing you at the ball.' He returned his attentions to the wardrobe where he continued storming through its contents.

'Sherlock, listen to me…' Ruby cautiously approached the detective within the throes of eccentricity.

'Am I wrong?' He barked, straightening with six different ties slung over his shoulder and refusing to meet Ruby's imploring gaze.

'No –'

'Good. Then get out.' Sherlock said severely, flattening himself on the floor and groping for something he thought to have rolled beneath the bed. Ruby watched for a moment, trying to hide the obvious hurt Sherlock had so easily inflicted. But she wasn't going away that easily.

'You need my help to catch her.' Her voice was rock-steady, the clashing binary of her emotions. Sherlock's scrabbling ceased, and very slowly, he met Ruby's accusing glare.

'You think that I, the world's only consulting detective, the most brilliant man you have ever had the pleasure of knowing, needs… _you_?' His eyes darkened in a way which made Ruby's heart hammer, but not in the pleasing fashion she'd come to associate with his presence. Sherlock extracted himself from the floor and took his time reaching his full height, making sure to tower over Ruby's quietly defiant form as he regained his six foot status. He took a step forward, his eyes sharply cold as he casually scanned her body. 'What could an _ordinary_ detective possibly have to offer me?' He whispered, his words cutting deep despite his soft tone.

'Oh I don't know Sherlock, it's not like you need a friend to help you out on your cases; you do _so_ well on your own.' Ruby hissed, not backing down from this fight and trying to hide her annoyance at being called "ordinary".

'I only have one friend who I can fully trust where my work is concerned. And as you've so kindly demonstrated, _you're not him_.' Sherlock didn't raise his voice in the slightest though Ruby wished he had, the disappointment lacing his words made her entire being cringe. To her complete horror, she felt tears well in her eyes as the impact of his words finally sunk in. Sherlock's slight smirk screamed of his merciless triumph and he bent a little closer to whisper one last sentence:

'Be a dear and close the door on your way out.'

* * *

Sherlock was keenly observing his disguise, looking for any cracks in his attire before joining the throng of people below. He was excited, the chase was in its last legs and he was very close to finally capturing this finicky Mastercard. He straightened an imaginary crease around his pristine white shirt and idly pulled at the black tie threatening to cut off his oxygen supply. The most extraordinary feature of his disguise, however, was the mask which hung from his bed post, staring blankly at the man observing himself critically in the mirror. Sherlock approached the mask and with elegant swiftness, placed it over his face. When selecting it, he'd made sure to avoid the countless mistakes nearly all males made with masks. It was black, plain, devoid of feathers or irritating sequins but most importantly, it was not a hand-held accessory.

Everything was in place; all that was left was to catch the notorious thief who would be making her appearance in roughly an hour's time. Sherlock checked his mobile which was linked with the thermal imagery cameras which he'd easily attached to the trunks of various trees pointing at the North East wall. All seven cameras were up and running, showing no living activity in the area bar from a few squirrels, the odd doe and of course a number of nesting birds. He straightened his shirt collar once more before snappily exiting the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

The murmur of people making arduous small talk made Sherlock grimace as he pocketed his mobile phone. He was grateful for his mask; his identity would remain secret from those who would recognise him from John's website.

Soon he entered the ballroom, the spectacular decoration failing to make an impression on his focused mind. He ignored the waiters floating champagne and caviar around the impressively sized floor, took no notice of the extraordinary range of expensive masks on display by Britain's most wealthy, many sporting jewel-encrusted masks which had belonged to those who once held positions of power and import until they died. Sherlock didn't register the expensive gowns worn by the women or the ridiculously expensive wristwatches of the men. No, his attention couldn't be diverted by such trivial observations, his mind needed to hone in on the case. He checked his mobile but was disappointed by the lack of progress. The Mastercard would have to enter soon if she wanted to make it on time for the grand speech which is where the sapphire would be appraised by an expert jeweller for the pleasure of the crowd before officially becoming the anniversary present of the Smith household.

A mini-orchestra filed onto stage and after a few moments of tuning (the lead violinist was a moron whose g-string was atrociously tuned) began playing mournful waltz music. Sherlock watched mutely from the side of the dance floor, his eyes scanning the crowd who eagerly took to the floor after the "happy couple" had broken the ice and taken to a stiff waltz. His phone was automatically in his hand as he re-checked the data shown by his thermal imagery cameras, but found to his disgust no improvement.

'Where are you?' He hissed beneath his breath.

'Quite the impatient one, aren't we?' So complete was Sherlock's focus, he didn't acknowledge the existence of the speaker beside him. 'Come now, it's not polite to ignore those initiating conversation. It is, however, a _sin_ to ignore those who offer a steamy distraction.' Sherlock was about to explain how that distraction was of as much interest to him as becoming the Pope, when the retort died on his lips as he turned to his unwanted companion.

'Tut, tut. Forgotten yourself again, Mr Holmes?' Sherlock took two very deep, very measured breaths before speaking with one of the most complex people he'd ever had the misfortune of meeting.

'Ms Adler.' He murmured; locking eyes with the now retired dominatrix.

'You seem surprised, Mr Holmes. I was hoping for a more romantic greeting but then I suppose, you wouldn't have an inkling of what that might involve.' Sherlock's eyes flicked over her attire, taking in the black, floor length gown with a slit chasing up her lower body, revealing a desirable glimpse of thigh. The dress elegantly coiled in a halter-neck, exposing delicate shoulders and naked arms. Sherlock's gaze focused for a moment longer than necessary on her hands sheathed in black lace gloves, her blood-red fingernails glinting menacingly through the fabric. High heels finished the polished look along with her signature hairstyle, the brown locks painstakingly arranged atop her head.

'Like what you see?' She asked playfully.

'Interesting mask; belonged to a member of royalty of more recent passing, a woman who was more familiarly known as "The People's Princess." I presume you know a man pathetic enough to procure such a present?' Sherlock observed, noting that the mask was also a hand-held one. He felt relieved upon finding an error with her unexpected arrival.

'I know what he likes.' Irene's crimson lips lifted in a humourless smile. 'Why the interest? One might mistake it for jealousy.'

'You have no excuse to be making such pointless accusations.'

'Looks like I can hit a nerve without shedding my clothes. Hmm, I really didn't think I'd improved but thank you for the surprising confirmation.' She casually twitched her mask aside; her heavily made-up eyes watched him intensely, the signature aquamarine generously lining her upper eyelids. 'Would you like me to defrock you again? You seemed to enjoy the experience during our initial acquaintance.' She eyed Sherlock's mask as if its very existence insulted her.

'Why are you here?' Sherlock asked; ignoring her question and turning away from Irene's unflinching gaze.

'I was about to ask you the same question. A consulting detective at a posh ball with his big brother keeping a close eye on him? Something of interest must be going on to drag the Holmes boys together.'

'The only reason you would return to such a public place would be to send a message. A message which we both agreed after I saved your life would never be sent.' Sherlock said quietly, scanning the people within earshot before stepping closer.

'And you trusted me to keep my promise like the innocent boy you are.' Irene purred, stroking the side of Sherlock's arm for a moment, trying to provoke a reaction from the cold man. She was enthralled with her own success as his hand snapped out and roughly grabbed her insulting fingers, his gaze boring into hers for an unbearably long second.

'Don't.'

'Why?' Irene asked coyly, her lips relaxing into a smirk. What she wouldn't do to have the opportunity to force him to _beg_ for her mercy. Making him uncomfortable would have to do. For now at least…

'Why are you here?' He demanded once again.

'Hush now, I'm in no humour for talking. And you needn't look so worried Mr Holmes; I'm in the mood for something much less strenuous than _dinner_.' Her eyes glanced to the dance floor then back to Sherlock, a question setting her eyes alight.

'Sorry, more important things to take care of.' He sharply dropped her hand.

'Oh, I don't think so.' She stepped in front of him, physically barring his way. 'I think it's in everyone's collective interest if you don't walk away.'

'And why might that be?' Sherlock snarled.

'You know how the game works Mr Holmes; you have to work for the information. It doesn't simply reveal itself because you command it.'

'Well, judging from your skillset within the game's boundaries, I was under the impression that's _exactly_ how it worked.' Sherlock whispered triumphantly. It took a moment for Irene to wipe her face clean of insult before pursuing a different tactic. She'd forgotten just how easily Sherlock Holmes could get under her skin; she hated and loved the feeling with equal passion.

'I suppose you're indelicately referring to all of my previous sexual encounters. They were rather fun Mr Holmes, then again, I doubt you could understand the type of enjoyment I speak of seeing as you always skip dinner.' She squared her shoulders, took a step forwards before staring him straight in the eye. 'All you have to do is ask me.' She murmured.

'Ask you what?' Sherlock said bluntly.

'You know what.'

'About dinner? I think we've been here before and you're going to be rather disappointed with my answer.'

'Not about dinner Mr Holmes, though it is promising to see that's where your mind strayed to.' She turned her head towards the dance floor once again.

'Why?'

'Why not? It can hardly do any damage.' She said with a misleading smile.

'I'm more than aware of what little damage you can inflict in the most extreme of situations, though that was not what I asked of you.' He leaned forwards and whispered the rest in her ear: 'Why are you so interested in dancing when all you really desire is to have me, alone, focused only on you and have no distractions? Why ask to dance when what you truly want is to take me to that remarkably sized closet housing thousands of pounds worth of furs and see what happens in the soft darkness?' He didn't need to check her pulse to know it was racing, didn't need to observe her eyes for the unusual dilation of her pupils.

Sherlock didn't get a chance to pull away from Irene's ear; she exhaled sharply, grabbed his hand and roughly dragged him from the ballroom. Upon approaching the extensive cloakroom, she barked at the attendant to let them in, before throwing the detective inside the plush interior, furs whispering as he turned sharply to observe her.

'Let's stop all this nonsense, shall we?'

'Nonsense?' Irene asked.

'Yes. Nonsense.' Sherlock murmured before pulling off his mask in one quick sweep.

'Oh my, what a surprise.'

'The reason as to why you're here, Ms Adler.' Sherlock commanded, his eyes blazing with authority.

'What do you think; would the owner of this coat look as good in it as I do?' She crooned, procuring a luxurious, sleek black fur coat which seemed to float around her with a loving caress as she tried it on.

'Ms Adler.'

'You're no fun.' She replied with a teasing pout, carelessly tossing the coat aside. 'Haven't you figured it out yet?'

'That you wish once again to leave a questionable item in my possession? Why yes, the thought did happen to cross my mind.' Sherlock snapped. 'Now hurry up and explain the finer details, my patience is wearing fast. And I swear I will set this coat room on fire if it's another camera phone.'

'You really don't believe I'm so predictable, do you?' Irene sashayed forwards. 'I do need you to keep something for me, something which as happened to me before; is more danger than protection.'

'Show it to me.'

'I don't have it here…'

'Then why are you wasting my time!?'

'It's in my bedroom, if you'd like to take a closer look.' Sherlock watched her carefully for a moment but he was saved from making this decision by his brain connecting two pieces of information which had been annoying him since Irene Adler initially appeared. He had to try very hard to stop exclaiming aloud in appreciation of his own brilliance.

'The item in question, it's in your bedroom?' Sherlock whispered, full of confidence from his recent deduction.

'Yes, it's in the safest place I know.'

'Really?' Sherlock advanced forwards slowly. 'It's just… I find that slightly hard to believe.'

'That the safest place I know is my bedroom?'

'No Ms Adler. That you have an item which needs concealing at all is what I find rather dubious.' Irene's face flickered for half a second, all the confirmation Sherlock needed. 'You see, I believe you're here for a very different reason and concocted this damsel in distress plea in the hopes that it would work for you again. I am very thorough in learning my lessons Ms Adler and this time, _you will not fool me_.' He reached forwards and jerked her right hand forward, stripping it of the lace glove with ease. He slid off the ring adorning her middle finger and held it up so it twinkled in the dim light.

'My ring? You're basing all of this hogwash on my ring?'

'Oh but you see, this isn't just any ring Ms Adler, this was one of the few undocumented steals by a certain jewel thief who goes by the name of the Mastercard. We both now her by her real name: Sabrina Milton, sister of up-and-coming politician Chloe Milton. The family this was taken from wanted no fuss and decided to cash in on the insurance policy instead of recovering the almost priceless ring. They let me see a picture of it to satisfy my curiosity, but that leads to the question, why do you have it Ms Adler?' His gaze sharpened on her.

'There's no such thing as coincidence you see. I was monitoring the thief's moments carefully until one day, she disappeared. Gone like a puff of smoke, I presumed she was dead and would have continued labouring beneath this misapprehension had it not been for some rather interesting information I received from some reliable sources of mine. So if not dead, where could she be?' Sherlock took another step forwards, his eyes blazing into the now uncertain depths of Irene Adler's.

'She was at your place of residence where you made her feel special, where you tainted her mighty principals and values and brainwashed her into believing that you cared for her. You knew about her obsession with John Watson and used it to your advantage in order to force her to project those intense feelings onto you. This ring is evidence of that; it is a gift from her to you, cementing her unflinching admiration. Then you set up tonight, goaded her to steal in front of a crowd; claimed that the Sapphire around Lady Smith's neck would make you the happiest woman in the world. She'd also get to divert all of the attention from her elder sister finally onto herself, attention which you most likely claimed made poor little Sabrina feel as if she were neglected from birth.' Sherlock rolled the ring around in his broad palm, admiring the tedious craftsmanship which went into its creation.

'You were to distract me when the time was right, leave the pathway clear for her to carry out her job. But once again Ms Adler, you've underestimated me.' Sherlock withdrew his phone and flicked to the live screening of his thermal camera images. 'And right on queue; here she comes.' Sherlock murmured, watching as a fuzzy-shaped, orange human gently dismounted from the only unmanned corner of the extensive Smith estate. He pocketed the device and straightened his suit, preparing to leave the expensive coat-closet.

'Well, this was mildly entertaining, but it appears you've failed in trying to hood-wink me. You should know by now, tricking doesn't work with me.' He whispered, gently pocketing the ring for safe-keeping. Sherlock then brushed past a completely dismantled Irene Adler who gaped after the detective, confounded by his accurate analysis.

'Sherlock.' She whispered. Under normal circumstances, his stride would have remained uninterrupted. He was a little surprised as this was the first time Irene Adler had ever used his first name, so it was with a rare sense of hesitation that he turned around. The woman came striding towards him, heels clattering, cheeks flushed. Sherlock thought she was going to throttle him.

He'd never made such a perfectly wrong analysis in his life.

Irene Adler didn't hit him, she threw herself at him, her arms flying around his neck as she smashed her lips against his in a desperate, aggressive kiss, one which tried to convey the sheer complexity of feelings she harboured for the dark-haired detective with the funny hat. Sherlock stood stock still, his mind blank as he tried to process the data his senses were sending him – and failing miserably. A second later, his mind rebooted and he realised with a sickening jolt what would happen next, and he was in no position to stop it. His suspicions were confirmed when Irene Adler withdrew, her lipstick smudged but her lips split by a manic smile as he felt the needle hidden in her right arm pierce his flesh and eject a foreign substance into his veins. As the cold paralytic began pumping around his body, he dully realised he had fallen to his hands and knees. Sherlock was also surprised to find himself laughing. With a hard kick to his ribs, he was flung onto his back, Irene towering over him.

'What's so funny?' She demanded, bending down so she could take a fistful of Sherlock's hair and pull on it painfully.

'Oh… you know… heh, you. Ms Adddler.' Sherlock slurred, smiling dreamily at the dominatrix who was very much out of retirement.

'What about me?'

'You kiss…. I can't believe…. Soo funny!'

'Sherlock Holmes, you tell me what is so funny, or I will slap you into unconsciousness. I've done it before.' She threatened.

Sherlock experienced a brief moment of lucidity where he calmly looked Irene Adler straight in the eye and spoke a sentence which sealed his victory in this particular round despite his near unconscious state:

'It's disappointing… that of…. _all_….people. You. You….' He broke off into another chuckle, and tried very hard to remain focused on what he was saying.

'Irene Adler… you kiss… the _boring _way.'

* * *

**Hey guys, I have been planning to write this chapter for a long time now and for me, it really worked. I hope you enjoyed it, keeping Irene Adler in character was tough indeed! But I enjoyed the challenge and she was incredibly fun to write so that's definitely a plus! This chapter and that last line have been in my head for a long time, it makes me feel so relieved to know that it's finally published. Hurrah! Thank you for all the wonderful reviews, they give me the strength to continue writing.**


	38. Chapter 38

**Due to the absolute ridiculous leaps in reviews (37 reviews since I last posted THIRTY-SEVEN!) here is a chapter two days in advance. You guys deserve it for the overwhelming demonstration of love. Enjoy!**

* * *

**True Friendship**

Spontaneously combusting from sheer fury was an apt description for Ruby's rage as she continued to pace the spacious length of her sister's old room. It was only on rare occasions when Ruby decided to invade its serene sanctuary. However, its soothing effects weren't taking hold, she'd been in here for hours after Sherlock had thrown her from his chambers and her anger hadn't died in the slightest. This was represented by her current train of thought:

_Sherlock Holmes, what a bastard._

He'd claimed that she of _all_ people; was unreliable, had even accused her of betrayal! How dare he; that obnoxiously arrogant moron. Look at what she'd done for him over the course of their friendship, the ridiculous requests she'd granted him, foregoing food and sleep in order to help him with a case. And this was her thanks? Well good luck to the smarmy git, he could try to catch the Mastercard, see how far he got on his own!

She flung herself into a nearby armchair, her blood thundering in her ears as she gazed at the ornamented ceiling. The room was rather bare for a bedroom but Diane had never pursued an interest in interior design as her attention remained exclusively focused on her violin and tobacco. Her instrument was locked away in its case at the other end of the room and lay beside an abandoned music stand, Tchaikovsky's violin concerto perched precariously upon the delicate metal frame. The room was cleaned regularly to combat the presence of dust and moths but there was an overwhelming sense of abandonment saturating the air. The lack of grime only served to highlight the chamber's missing resident, everything was too clean, and the air hadn't been inhaled by the person who was supposed to sleep in the large bed nestled in the corner of the room. Also, the minor fact of Diane being spectacularly messy made every excursion into the room an eerie experience; it had always been a source of amusement for Ruby to see the extent of her sister's untidiness. The absence of it was… disquieting.

She was on her feet again, taking personal offence at the uncluttered nature of the room. It was a blemish on Diane's memory, an outrage to label her as someone who would keep her bedroom meticulously tidy. She had been quite a visual person and claimed to know the exact location of anything she needed hiding in the mess which would adorn the floor. Seeing the full expanse of carpet go uninterrupted was beyond infuriating. Something had to be done.

But _what_?

Without thinking, Ruby kicked out at the armchair she'd flung herself into and smiled savagely as it crumpled beneath the pressure of gravity and hit the carpet with a muffled _BOOM!_

Well, that was a start, what next?

The creaseless silken sheets of the bed were begging for some kind of rebellion and Ruby was delighted to bring them the excitement they deserved. She tore at the bed covers until they pooled in a defeated mass on the floor. Next were the drapes so neatly pinned at each post of the bed. Fingers tore at the heavy ties, releasing the flowing material in a crimson wave not unlike that of Superman's cape. The curtains were succeeded by the plump pillows begging for slaughter and Ruby realised she'd hit the jackpot as she lifted the nearest one. It was a good old-fashioned pillow, stuffed to the brim with feather and down. Grasping the pillow, she hurled it against the corner of an old radiator, the material ripping deliciously on the sharp corner. Moments later, a burst of feathers exploded out of their prison, savouring their liberation as Ruby spun wildly, spreading the feathers over the pristine carpet. When the pillowcase fell limp in her hand, it was without hesitation she reached for the next one.

The pillows were soon spent, the tables were all over turned; ink bottles were smashed against the walls and the contents of the wardrobe was spread tastefully on the bed, windowsill, tipped furniture and floor. Broken hangers poked half-heartedly out of the mess and Ruby sat on the edge of the bed to observe her handiwork. Why yes, this did seem like a much truer portrait of Diane's wild character, not to mention she could feel herself returning to her usual, controlled self.

Ruby crumpled onto the bed, shoving some rosin and a fluffy slipper onto the floor as she regained her breath. While contemplating the ceiling of the four-poster, Ruby was reminded of some of the more unpleasant times involving Diane's trying behaviour. Despite accepting her sister unlike her parents, Ruby remembered disgraceful times when she'd experienced uncontrollable fits of anger at Diane's complete lack of humanity. It would force her to scream into pillows and sob like an idiot. Those were extreme outbreaks of emotion and had only happened once or twice in an entire year. Desiring her own company and dismissing her were all parts of Diane's usual routine as she didn't know what damage she was inflicting.

Ruby's heart calmed as she pondered whether Diane had felt regret after her psychological break through. If so, had it contributed to her urge to commit suicide?

It didn't take long for Ruby's heart rate to return to normal, and before she knew where her thoughts were taking her, she arrived at an unexpected conclusion. She realised the anger which had coursed violently though her veins and fuelled vicious fantasies of smashing every precious object in the house (which amounted to a mind-boggling sum of money) was only partially to do with Sherlock's earlier behaviour. The exact trigger of her fury was in fact, her own selfish motivations. She hadn't given a fleeting thought to how it would affect Sherlock's reputation if he backed off and as a result, the Mastercard slunk in and successfully stole from right beneath his nose. She hadn't thought about what Mycroft Holmes would do in such a scenario; no doubt he would derive sadistic pleasure from his little brother's embarrassment. The internet would soon hear of the scandal, meaning Sherlock's prowess would be stunted and the public wouldn't trust him with possible cases.

'_Fuck_.' She said to no-one in particular.

Abandoning the odd comfort of Diane's bed, Ruby began pacing the room once again (a very trying exercise as there were many obstacles in her way,) her gait very much subdued as she tried to ignore the feeling crawling around in the pit of her stomach.

'Fuck off.' She told her stomach sternly before continuing her pacing. Thirty-two paces, met with the door, turn, another thirty-two paces, left, right, left, right, dodge the upturned music stand, don't trip over the desk…

Halting before an interesting collage of smeared ink and feathers stamped to a pinstriped cushion, an ideal solution presented itself.

The party was well underway; Ruby could hear the grumble of hundreds of voices trudging to the ballroom. Luckily for her, she'd decided to miss the soiree as she had far more important matters to attend to and hurried back to her room. She felt her gut sink at the sight of Carson's pacing figure outside of her bedroom, his movements unusually agitated. He was probably furious with her absence at the ball downstairs.

'Carson?' She called cautiously.

'My lady!' His face relaxed for a moment before a barely concealed rage pulled at his facial muscles.

'What's the matter Carson?' Ruby drew level with the old butler, not liking how deep his frown ran.

'It's your _guest_.' He spat the last word vehemently.

'My guest?' Ruby blinked for a few moments. 'Oh, you mean Sherlock? What about him?'

'Outrageous behaviour, if this is the disposition of the modern gentleman well I can only hope the apocalypse is swift in its judgement.'

'Carson!' Ruby scolded, it was so unlike him to be so disapproving. 'What did he do?'

'I found him passed out in the fur closet, mumbling like a buffoon after the attendant called my attention to the disturbance! Said he and a lady friend entered the coat closet and only she exited after a few minutes. And it doesn't take a _detective _to work out what was the cause of his passing out.'

'Sherlock's… a woman… passed out…' A cold sweat moistened the skin of Ruby's back.

'Oh yes, the shame of being drunk at such a dignified gathering –'

'Carson, where is he?' Ruby snapped before the butler could continue his admonishments.

'Well obviously he couldn't remain there, I had two spritely fellows return the ruffian to his room, by a route where none of the guests would observe him; I assure you.'

Ruby knew something was very wrong with this picture but seeing as she was the only one bar Mycroft who was familiar with Sherlock's odd personality, she was one of the very few who could see it.

'My lady, where are you going?' Carson's words chased Ruby as she sprinted down the corridor, knowing a drop of alcohol hadn't passed Sherlock's lips that evening. So what had? Poison? She quickly shut off that trail of thought with excellently wrought images of Sherlock foaming at the mouth and continued running down the carpeted passages. She took the stairs four at a time, ignored startled guests who she flew past, their mouths dropping as the girl with flaming red hair tore up the corridor in the most casual clothes money could buy. She'd been so careful to avoid anyone seeing her red hair (she really couldn't stick wearing the wig unless she absolutely had to) but now she couldn't give a fiddlers fornication for such precautions.

Slowing only to cut corners, she arrived at Sherlock's bedroom, gasping for breath and ignoring the puzzled look of an elderly lady locking her room two doors down. What she wasn't expecting was the door to be locked. She rattled the handle but to no avail, the door was older than she and would not cave because she wished it. It appeared Carson had been thorough in banishing the consulting-detective to solidarity for the rest of the night. Trying to find Carson would be virtually impossible; he could be in the kitchens, at the ball, prowling the upper corridors or in the wine cellar. So what could she do?!

'OH! Pick the lock; pick the lock, something to pick the lock…' She muttered to herself, the elderly lady now retreating into her room, thinking it best to leave the girl talking to herself to get on with whatever madness was plaguing her. Ruby cast around for something to help her in her quest but received nothing but potted plants, highly polished mirrors and dull pieces of expensive artwork by artists long forgotten. Her hands raked against her scalp as she tried to search for a way into the room which didn't involve a battering ram. Moments before resorting to throwing an ancient antique table with an equally archaic candelabra perched atop it; the solution came to her fingertips. Quite literally.

Ruby slid the small hairclip out of her hair, staring at it in amazement before hurrying forwards and unceremoniously jamming it into the keyhole. She calmed her shaking hands and twitched the hair clip delicately, a delicious clicking sound allowing the door to swing innocently open. Flicking on the lights stressed the very still body lying beneath the sheets. Ruby slammed the door behind her and sprinted forwards, halting at the side of the bed. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she regarded the detective who was thankfully, breathing. A hand shot out to check his pulse and she was pleased to find it beating strongly despite the comatose state of the detective.

'Sherlock?' She asked quietly, her hand sliding from his neck to his shoulder where she gave it a firm shake. Nothing. 'Sherlock!' She said while raising her voice. Still nothing. 'SHERLOCK HOLMES, WAKE UP YOU INSUFFERABLE MORON!' She roared while jerking both of his shoulders. Sherlock flumped back onto the pillows, his mouth falling open and dispelling an especially deep breath. 'Well, you're definitely drugged, you never let anyone call you moron and get away with it.' Ruby muttered while straightening up.

Pacing backwards and forwards, Ruby began questioning what might have happened. Sherlock walks into a coat closet (why, exactly?) with a woman. The woman walks out and Sherlock's in a coma. Conclusion… she gave him something. But what?!

Carson had changed Sherlock out of his evening suit and into his pyjamas (the suit was even hanging in front of the wardrobe, such was Carson's professionalism) and she began to check him over for any signs of… whatever drugged him. Oral drugs? She didn't see how a woman could overpower Sherlock and force him to swallow pills. He was far too clever for that… So perhaps something to do with a needle? She gently rolled the sleeves of his pyjamas up and examined the skin nearest the inside of his elbow. No sign of any puncture wounds there. His neck was clear (though there was a distinct whiff of female perfume near his Adam's apple). Ignoring the voice yelling _CREEP _in her head, she pushed up the pyjama top and looked for any sort of mark which would explain Sherlock's current state. She did her best to skim over the skin in a clinical manner, though it was hard to ignore the lean torso which she'd been pressed up against yesterday. After taking slightly longer than necessary, she concluded there were no marks on his midriff and hastily pulled down his top. She sighed while rubbing her forehead, wondering if there was something she was missing.

There was.

Ruby gasped as she stared at Sherlock's face, completely bewildered by what she'd missed. His lips were definitely a shade darker than what she remembered. With tentative fingers, she reached forward and rubbed her thumb across his lower lip, ignoring his warm breath teasing the back of her hand. She lifted her thumb and sure enough, a light red smudge decorated her pale skin. Either Sherlock had decided his disguise needed some spectacular lips or this woman he was with in the coat closet had kissed him. So a kiss took place along with Sherlock passing out. Perhaps the lipstick contained some sort of…

No, don't be stupid! Think! Think like he would if the situation was reversed. What is so odd about this picture? Sherlock doesn't go to coat closets to snog women into a melted puddle when he's in the middle of a case. As a matter of fact, he doesn't follow any woman anywhere… Aha! So he knew this woman! Of course he did, why else would he follow her? So he knew the woman… he went into the coat closet with her to confront her… alright. But the kiss… the comatose Sherlock. What linked them? Something must connect them in order to complete this bizarre picture…

Who initiated the kiss? That was obvious, the mysterious woman did and there was no room for bias as Sherlock simply did not entertain such notions. So why? Why would she kiss him? Does she love him this mysterious woman? Was this perhaps a declaration of her feelings–

No. It was too much of a coincidence. She wanted to take him out this evening, keep him distracted from the case he was so focused on. Was it the Mastercard herself then who led Sherlock into the coat closet? Though the logic was sound behind this analysis, a slight nagging sensation told Ruby that this was not the work of the Mastercard, but of someone else entirely. So if not Sabrina Milton… then who? Who would help the Mastercard to succeed and know Sherlock Holmes?

She knew she was asking the right question, but unfortunately, she had no idea how to answer it.

Alright, but what else could she ascertain from this situation? She still needed to figure out how Sherlock was drugged, not why this woman was kissing him…

And then, in a dream-like haze, the epiphany struck. Of course! The kiss was to distract Sherlock _while_ this woman drugged him! He would have been so distracted, that it would have been easy! You kiss a man to drug him... where do you plan to insert the drug? Obviously a chemical poured onto a cloth and fitted over the victim's mouth wouldn't work in this situation. Ruby paused in her pacing and sighed. So… lips are locked… what are the hands doing? They could swing a needle into his back..? No, too risky, it has to be instant, near. A jabbing motion to the….

Oh.

No wonder she hadn't seen the puncture mark, she hadn't rolled his sleeve high enough. She flew to his side, scrabbled with his left sleeve (more than likely the assailant would be right-handed) and pulled the material up to his shoulder. Sure enough, a tiny dot of red almost smack bang in the middle of Sherlock's bicep could be identified. Ruby staggered backwards, in slight awe of her sharp deduction. She was smart, but it was rare for her to be this smart and this fast. Perhaps she was channelling Sherlock's psyche which was bored out of its tree while being trapped under the influence of drugs.

'So who the bloody hell would you know who would kiss you then drug you?' She asked him with a frown. It was a question she needed an answer to. Luckily for Ruby, there remained at least one other conscious person who could answer it for her. And she had his number.

The phone rang for a few seconds before a tired but familiar voice picked up the other line.

'Hello?'

'John hi. It's Ruby.'

'Oh Ruby? Hullo. Was I supposed to be expecting a call –'

'No you weren't, listen John, I really need your help.'

'Everything alright?'

'Eh… not exactly.' Ruby said while throwing a quick glance at Sherlock to make sure he was still breathing. 'Listen. Something happened to Sherlock –'

'Sherlock? Sherlock's with you?'

'Of course he is, didn't he tell you?'

'….No.'

'Oh, well he didn't tell me either until he got here. Anyway that's beside the point –'

'So he's at your parent's anniversary weekend thing?'

'Yes, I didn't invite him; he just sort of managed to get himself on the guest list. Anyway, I have a question which I need you to answer for me.'

'I hope a million quid isn't riding on my answer.'

'Something a little more precious than that I'm afraid.' Ruby said, unable to resist the urge to wipe a stray curl from Sherlock's eyes. 'This is going to sound strange, but do you know of any woman in Sherlock's history who would kiss him and then drug him?'

John's line was completely silent for a solid ten seconds.

'…John?'

'What do you mean, kiss him then drug him?' He asked quietly.

'Well, he has lipstick smudged over his lips and he's out cold due to a needle injection to his left bicep –'

'What colour's the lipstick?'

'Uh, I'd have to say crimson?'

More silence greeted her words but for some reason, Ruby thought the information might have angered John.

'I don't mean to rush you John, but time really is of the essence. A huge shit storm's coming my way and the answer to this question will help me fight it.'

'I can think of one woman who might conduct such a destructive experiment, but she's dead.'

'_Dead_?!'

'Well, it wouldn't be the first time she's fooled us.'

'Fooled… you? What do you mean John?'

'Her name was Irene Adler and I have it on excellent authority that she's dead.'

Irene Adler. Where did she know that name from…? She then re-called the conversation with Leo Shannon in that bar with the tasty tequila. The conversation felt as if it took place a lifetime ago.

_'Irene Adler? Who's that?'_

_'Use the correct tense Detective Red, who __**was**__ Irene Adler?'_

_'She's dead?'_

_'Dead as a gravestone. And between you and me, __**everyone**__, including dear Locke, is better off as a result. I've never met such a dangerous snake of a woman clothed in such a desirable form…I do however know this: of all the women Locke has ever encountered, Irene Alder was the only one who successfully challenged his indifference to the fairer sex.'_

'On whose authority? Sherlock's?'

'Mycroft's, actually. Though this does sound like the type of thing she'd do…' John heaved a heavy sigh before noisily clearing his throat. 'I'm visiting family at the moment but I could easily get a train –'

'He's fine, John, he'll wake up and be screaming at everyone about how they're all morons. It'll all be over by the time you get here anyway, so don't waste the train fare.'

'Alright then…Would it help in any possible way if I described her to you?'

'Actually yes, it would.' John went into a detailed description which Ruby hurriedly jotted down before bidding John a hurried good night along with a heart-felt thank you. She pocketed her mobile phone and ran her eyes over the list one last time. She headed for the door but the sound of another door swinging open in the bedroom stopped her. Slowly turning round, Ruby was faced with a woman matching every single trait John had just described and appeared to have been hiding in the bathroom this entre time. Irene Adler sported bright red lips and perfectly coiffured hair while she was dressed in an astonishingly provocative outfit. A translucent black lingerie dress clung to her naked torso, finishing just at her upper thigh and leaving very little to the imagination. Legs sheathed in fishnet stockings ended in spectacularly high heels and a riding crop lay powerfully in her right hand. Heavily made-up eyes bore down on Ruby in an almost predatory fashion and with a quick swish of her riding crop, the woman addressed her:

'Hello there. I think it's about time we had a proper chat, don't you?'

* * *

**Ooh, show-down with Irene Adler in the next chapter! Something I've been planning for a long time and will introduce a slightly unusual interpretation of the dominatrix whom I simultaneously ADORE and LOATHE. Thank you so much for the ridiculous support and a special mention must be made to rycbar15 who alone in the past 48 hours has given me 24 reviews as she read the story from scratch. I have no words for all of those wonderful words, but thank you. And to the rest of my loyal reviewers and readers here's to you. You give me the belief to keep on writing! Any ideas as to what I might have a-cookin' in the next chapter? Please feel free to speculate!**


End file.
